Second Chances
by servantofclio
Summary: Twelve years after the end of the war, Shepard is living a quiet, retired life, having put her past behind her. An encounter with an old friend makes her reconsider some choices and just might give both of them another chance at happiness. A story about friendship, love, and blending families. FemShep/Garrus, references to past FemShep/Kaidan and Garrus/OC.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: This is not a Val Shepard story; in fact, this is not a Shepard I've ever written about before. (Her personality, background, and game decisions will be referenced in the story, where relevant.) I've been working on this one for a while. A lot of it is already roughed out, and I should be updating it once, or maybe twice a week.

* * *

"Mom? I'm home!"

Renee Shepard's first thought was that her ten-year-old son was home early. She glanced at her chrono, about to call back a reprimand, and realized that instead, she'd lost track of time. Too many reports. Unauthorized settlements in the Attican Traverse, mercenary harassment of batarian refugees, worrisome incidents of piracy in the vicinity of Illium. Over twelve years since the end of the war, and the homeworlds, the heart of galactic civilization, were rebuilding and healing, but the margins of Council space were as rough as they'd ever been. "I'll be with you in a minute," she called back, pushing her chair back from her desk and stretching. She winced as her stiff shoulders, back, and hips protested. She was supposed to take breaks more often; her old war injuries didn't handle strenuous activity well, but they also didn't handle prolonged inactivity well. Carefully, she stretched out the worst of the tightness, saved the report she was compiling, and pushed herself to her feet. Her left hip twinged, as usual, but the pain wasn't too bad. Not really bad enough for a painkiller, and definitely not bad enough for the extra-strength painkillers. Enough to make her limp as she made her way from her home office to the kitchen, though.

It had been Councilor Sparatus who'd offered her her current job, much to her surprise. "You've been in the field, Shepard," he had said. "You have the contacts and experience and an eye for detail. With you reviewing and commenting on the work of Spectres and other Council agents, we have a much better chance of spotting problems before they become crises."

She had raised an eyebrow. "You're sure that's appropriate when I'm married to a Spectre?"

Sparatus had waved a hand dismissively. "That's of no matter. You and I have not always agreed, but no one can argue with your results."

"Hm," she'd said, regarding the turian thoughtfully. She was hardly any kind of expert on turians, but she thought Sparatus was looking older, more tired. And she had to admit the offer had some appeal. She'd retired after the Reaper War—a medical necessity, since she'd never really recovered to the point that she would be fit for combat again—but with her son starting school, and Kaidan frequently away from home on Spectre missions, the idea of something to occupy her time and mind, some kind of useful work to give her a sense of purpose, was very tempting.

She'd asked Sparatus to let her think about it, and talked it over with Kaidan afterward. "You don't mind?" she'd asked.

"Of course not. Why would I?" he'd said. "You still have a lot to offer, love. You deserve all the retirement you want, don't get me wrong, but if you'd rather be working, of course I'll support you."

That had been the start of it—six, nearly seven years ago now. She'd kept her hours limited at first, but she'd gradually increased them over time, and after Kaidan's death three years ago, having a useful occupation had proven to be a lifeline. If you'd taken the eighteen-year-old street kid that Renee Shepard had been, or even the twenty-nine-year-old marine, and told her that one day she'd be an intelligence analyst for the Council, she'd have laughed you out of the room. But it was valuable work, and she was good at it, and that gave her a much deeper sense of satisfaction than she could have imagined when she started.

Shepard limped her way into the kitchen and found David rummaging in the refrigerator, pulling out cheese and fruit juice to join the crackers already sitting on the counter. "We'll have dinner soon," she pointed out.

David gave her one of those looks, the kind that implied she was a little slow. "We had biotics training this afternoon, Mom. I'm _starving_."

"Oh, well, then. We can't have you wasting away." She was a little hungry herself, and snagged a piece of cheese as he started slicing it.

"_Mom_. That's my cheese."

"What, I can't have a snack, too?"

David screwed up his face into a scowl, moving the plate of cheese further away from her. She let him, smiling as he fell to. She got an obscure pleasure from watching him eat; she thought it was a combination of maternal satisfaction at seeing her child healthy, and amusement at his attempts to maintain good table manners in the face of a growing biotic's powerful appetite. He tried, he really did, but it was hard for him not to wolf down everything in front of him.

Kaidan had always been punctilious about manners, no matter how much he was eating. Deeply ingrained parental instruction, Shepard supposed. She cut David more slack, most likely. But then, David was among the first of the second-generation human biotics, and their abilities tended to manifest a little younger than their parents' had. Researchers weren't sure why.

At ten, David only reminded her of his father a little bit—around the jaw and eyes. She thought the shade of his brown eyes was closer to Kaidan's than her own; his skin tone was somewhere between hers and Kaidan's, too, a warm brown tone that was a few shades lighter than hers. He was a little taller than average for his age, but it was too early to tell how his adult height and build would turn out, she thought.

It had been just the two of them for three years now, since a Spectre mission had gone badly awry. Kaidan had saved lives, the councilors had informed her solemnly. Hostages and refugees had gone free because of him, a dangerous crime lord on the verge of turning into a dangerous terrorist had been stopped, and he deserved the Council's thanks and honors.

It hadn't helped much. It was painfully ironic to have survived so many desperate or ill-advised missions herself, and then to lose her husband after nearly a decade of successfully-completed Spectre assignments. She couldn't shake the thought that if only she'd been able to be with him, he wouldn't have died; and telling a seven-year-old boy that this time his dad wasn't coming home was a task she'd never wanted to face. There had been a lot of tears and a lot of tantrums. Weathering Kaidan's loss hadn't been easy, for either David or her. By now, though… maybe it was just a mother's pride talking, but she thought David was unusually mature for his age, kind-hearted and generous.

He swallowed down the last of his juice, and said, "There was a new kid in school today."

"Oh, yeah?" Shepard replied, interest piqued. David's school was fairly exclusive—not out of any particular snobbery on her part, but because there were certain security risks entailed for any child of an active Spectre, or of a celebrated, sometimes notorious war hero. So David attended a high-quality, high-security school close to the Presidium. Beyond the quality of the education, Shepard also liked that it had a diverse student population—there were both human and turian children there, a handful of asari, a few salarians, even a couple of elcor and a volus. A new child in the school probably meant some new addition to the Council staff or diplomatic corps.

"Yeah. She's a turian. I mean—" He made a face. "I think she's a girl, I didn't exactly want to ask."

It could be hard to tell with turian kids, since the boys' fringes didn't grow in until adolescence. "I think you can ask as long as you do it politely. What's the new kid's name?"

"Lexa," he said. "Short for Thelexa."

"That sounds like a girl's name to me."

"Okay." David looked relieved. "I thought so, but I wasn't sure."

"What's she like?" Shepard glanced at the time again. "Are you going to want dinner soon?"

"I could eat," he said. His standard answer, even though he'd just had a snack. Shepard was genuinely in fear of how much he might eat once he hit his teens. She started getting out pasta and sauce ingredients.

"Anyway, she's smart. We were science lab partners today. She's only nine, I think, but she's placed higher in math than me." He made a face. "But she was really nice. Fun to work with."

"Maybe she can help you with your math," Shepard suggested. It was a perennial weak spot for him, one of the ways he took after her.

"Maybe," said David, grudgingly. He watched Shepard chop onions for a few minutes before changing the subject. "Lexa said she just moved here from Palaven. Have you ever been to Palaven, Mom?"

Shepard hesitated before tossing the onions into the pan to cook. "No, but I got close once," she said slowly. Sometimes her memories of the war were fuzzy. Sometimes they were a lot more vivid. The sight of Palaven in flames, hanging huge over the horizon, while the massive form of a Reaper stalked the surface of Menae, was one of the things she couldn't forget, especially tangled as it was with the choking fear and determination she'd felt that day.

"Mom?" David was saying, and Shepard blinked, recalled to the present.

"Yes?"

"When did you go? What were you doing?"

"It was back during the war. I had a mission on one of Palaven's moons. Menae." She took a deep breath, pushing down the conflicting emotions of the past, and stirred the sizzling onions around.

"What was the mission? Was Dad there too?"

She winced. His father had been in a coma at Huerta Memorial at the time. No need to talk about that. "No, honey, your dad wasn't there. I was trying to locate the turian Primarch so I could escort him to a war summit."

"Ohhh." After a moment, David added, "Did you find him?"

"The Primarch? Yes, I did." No need to get into the messy succession details, either.

His eyes got big. "Mom, does that mean you know the Primarch?"

He'd traveled on her ship for weeks. She'd watched his son die. They'd seen each other's planets burn. "Well… sort of," she said. "I've met him, but that was quite a while ago."

"Can we go to Palaven sometime? Lexa kept talking about it, and it sounded really cool."

"I think it's really warm, actually," she said with a smile.

"Ha ha," said David. "But could we go? We go to Earth sometimes, but we never go anywhere else."

Shepard frowned, considering. The Citadel had been home base for a long time, ever since the station had begun to be habitable again. With Kaidan being sent anywhere in Council Space on short notice, it had made sense, once the reconstructed Citadel resumed its place as the hub of the repaired relay networks. She didn't have a lot of sentimental attachment to Earth herself, in spite of growing up there. She hadn't really thought about traveling in quite a while. Space travel had been so chancy for a couple of years right after the war, and then somehow she'd gotten used to her home and her routine. Nowadays, David's school met year-round, so there weren't even long vacations to take advantage of. "Oh, honey, I don't know—" She hesitated. "There are a lot of different places we could go, if you want to travel. We could maybe go to Rannoch or Thessia or something. On Palaven, we'd have to be careful of the radiation. You know humans aren't built to resist it the way turians are."

"I know. I'd be good, I promise. I'd wear an exosuit or whatever we had to do."

"Well... maybe. I'd need to do some research and figure out what we needed. I do know a couple people on Palaven. Maybe we could visit. Sometime." Shepard frowned, stirring the sauce, trying to remember when she'd last heard from Garrus.

She hadn't been very good at staying in touch with a lot of her old friends. After the war, they'd all tended to scatter, heading home, reassigned, taking up new responsibilities as the galaxy turned its collective attention from warfare to rebuilding. Some, like Tali and Liara, wrote frequently, and Shepard didn't find it hard to keep up her end of the friendship. She still saw some of the human crew occasionally as their business took them through the Citadel, too. Others didn't send messages regularly at all, and that meant she slipped up on her own end. Garrus… wasn't a good correspondent. She remembered that he'd sent her a sympathetic note after Kaidan's death, and she thought she'd sent a brief reply. She'd been pretty overwhelmed at the time, between her own grief and taking care of David, and she just hadn't had the energy for more. But had that been the last time? Really? Nothing in three whole years?

Shepard tried to remember, but she couldn't come up with any messages exchanged since. She felt a stab of guilt. It was hard to believe she'd so thoroughly lost touch with someone who had once been such a presence in her life. There had been a time when she'd hardly gone anywhere without Garrus, when a day seemed odd if the two of them didn't speak. They'd once had a rare kind of friendship. She didn't let a lot of people get that close. She wasn't pretty sure he didn't, either. How had that changed in the last twelve years?

Facts of life, she told herself. She had a family and other responsibilities, and so did he. And it wasn't all her fault, now, was it? Communications worked both ways, and he didn't write, either. She should turn over a new leaf, she resolved: send him a note, get him up to date and see what was going on in his life. And then, maybe, eventually, if David still wanted to go, they could go for a visit.

The mundane problems of dinner and homework occupied her for the rest of the evening, though, and her resolution slipped out of her head by morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few weeks, David talked about his new friend Lexa a lot. The two kids seemed to be paired for a lot of their activities, perhaps because they balanced each other's weaknesses. Reading between the lines, Shepard gathered that Lexa was less strong on non-turian cultural subjects, and she already knew David was impatient and easily frustrated when it came to math and other more technical subjects. Beyond that, the two seemed to be hitting it off well, working together without a lot of argument. Shepard was glad; her boy had plenty of playmates, but fewer close friends, and the newcomer could probably use a good friend on the Citadel. Moving from Palaven to the station must be a bit of a shock. She was curious who the girl's family was, though she hadn't had a good opportunity to ask.

"Lexa says she's already doing combat training with her dad," David reported with some envy.

Shepard smiled, somewhat tightly. "Well, turians start military service at fifteen, remember. You can't even enlist until you're eighteen."

He sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"There are a lot of other things you could do, too."

"I want to be a marine, though, like Dad. And you," he added, as something of an afterthought.

Shepard tried not to sigh or grit her teeth. She understood David's enthusiasm for joining the military. His father's career as a marine and a Spectre loomed large in his imagination; he had a framed photo of Kaidan in dress uniform in his room, and she let him keep a couple of Kaidan's medals in his dresser. She wasn't sure her own military service was entirely real to him. He knew she'd been in a marine, and surely he realized that she was _the_ Commander Shepard, but it was probably all a little academic for him. As long as he remembered, she'd just been Mom, keeping his life in order and working from her home office. The kind of intelligence analysis she did now was not really a subject she could discuss with him, since nearly everything she reviewed was highly classified.

Still, no matter how well she understood it, the thought of him going into the field, running the sort of risks she and Kaidan had run, made he guts clench. The idea of losing him the way she'd lost Kaidan—or of her laughing brown-eyed boy coming home to her with the kind of darkness in his eyes that she sometimes saw in the mirror—was hard to bear. She hoped desperately that he'd change his mind before he became old enough, find some other path to a happy, successful adult life. One with less risk of death or dismemberment.

At the same time, he was a biotic, and the Systems Alliance was still the career path for most biotics. Biotic abilities were always in demand. He'd get ample encouragement from all sorts of sources as he grew older.

She took a deep breath. He was only ten. There was plenty of time yet to worry about his future. "You get biotic training," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I want to learn to use a gun."

Her eyebrows went up. "You're still a little young for that, mister."

David gave her a scowl, dark brows drawn together. "I'm old enough! Lexa's younger than I am!"

"And you're acting so mature right now," she pointed out.

He heaved an exaggerated sigh, and adopted a smoother expression, with some obvious struggle. Shepard had to work not to smile. "Please, Mom? I'd be very careful, I promise."

"Hm. Well, I'll think about it," Shepard allowed. "No begging," she added, as the boy's face lit up. "Give me time to think it over."

#

It must have been a couple of days after that conversation that her omni-tool pinged with a message from David in the middle of the afternoon.

_Mom, Lexa and I finished our project early and the teacher says we can go. Can she come over to our house?_

That didn't take much thought; Shepard was interested to meet David's new friend, and the school would provide an escort to both kids.

_Have your teacher message me with this so-called approval and make sure Lexa gets her parents' permission. If it's okay with them, then sure._

The message from the teacher came through minutes later, and it wasn't long after that the front door of the apartment slammed. "Mom!"

"Don't slam the door!" Shepard called back, reflexively, making her way from her back office toward the door.

"Sorry!"

"Lexa's parents do know she's visiting here, right?" Shepard asked, coming into the front room. David was already dropping his backpack and stripping off his shoes. His turian friend was following his lead, bent over to take off her boots.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, her voice a little muffled. "My dad said it was all right and he'd pick me up in an hour." She had a more piping, higher-pitched voice than Shepard had expected, somehow, but then most of the turians she'd spent any amount of time around were adult and male. Lexa pulled her second boot off and stood upright, blinking in Shepard's direction. "Thank you for letting me come over, ma'am."

Shepard stopped in her tracks. The turian girl was about David's height, her build slim and compact, her tawny coloring not much of a contrast to her gray school uniform. And she had pale blue eyes, bright and clear, and cobalt blue markings in broad stripes under her eyes, across her nose, and along her small mandibles. For a brief second, Shepard thought her mind might be playing tricks on her, conjuring up the look of her old friend in her son's classmate, but Lexa's face didn't change as she blinked, and her gaze was steady and trusting. Shepard put one hand on the back of the couch, steadying herself, and cleared her throat. "Hi, Lexa. I've heard a lot about you, but I don't think David ever mentioned your last name."

"Vakarian, ma'am. Thelexa Vakarian."

Well, that settled it: at least she wasn't hallucinating. Shepard smiled, feeling suddenly, oddly weightless. "An hour, you said? That sounds fine, but homework after, David."

"Yes, mom." David was practically bouncing in his socks. "Can I show her my new game?"

"Sure, go ahead."

Shepard watched the two kids dash off in the direction of David's room. An hour. She tried to go back to work, but found herself reading the same line of a report five times and gave up, too restless to concentrate. Instead, she paced, stretching out her back and her bad leg. She wandered into the bathroom and checked her reflection in the mirror, frowning at the lines she'd accumulated in the past twelve years. She was just wearing jeans and a plain shirt; maybe she should change into something… nicer. Or… more uniform-like? No. That was silly. And she didn't have uniforms any more.

She couldn't even be _sure_ it was the same Vakarian, she told herself. Lots of turians wore the same colony marks, right? For all she knew, the name was as common as Jones or Garcia or Lee. She shouldn't get too excited.

She had half a mind to call Lexa and demand to know her father's full name, but she could hear the kids in the midst of trying out David's game and decided not to interrupt them. She'd know soon enough, one way or the other.

She hadn't seen Garrus in... how long had it been? Before David was born, surely. In fact, it must have been... her steps slowed as she tried to remember… it must have been before the wedding.

She and Kaidan had married not quite a year after the end of the war. It had been a couple of months since what humans called the Battle of London, and everyone else called the Battle of Earth, before she'd been up and about again, and she and Kaidan's mother had started making plans. She'd sent invitations to all the old team. Garrus's reply had arrived late—only a month or so before the wedding. She'd opened it up eagerly, and then stared at the decline with a sort of stunned incomprehension. Somehow the idea of going through such an important ceremony in her life without him there seemed impossible. There was a brief, apologetic note citing duties on Palaven, but she suspected it was an excuse. Only later, after a couple glasses of wine, was she able to admit to herself that she knew the reason why, and it went back months earlier, to a conversation in the main battery near the start of the war, and how she'd pretended she hadn't seen the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

So the last time she'd seen him must have been before that. Yeah. She'd still been in recovery at the hospital, and Garrus had stopped in to say goodbye before he headed back to Palaven. It had been a friendly farewell, Kaidan in the room with her, as always back then. They'd exchanged some kind of terrible joke—about her aim, or Harbinger's, she couldn't remember any more—and then she'd watched his armored back go out the door. It must be nearly twelve years ago now.

The doorbell rang. Shepard gathered her thoughts and took a deep breath. There was a fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. It was ridiculous to be this nervous. It either was Garrus or it wasn't, and if it was, well... they were friends, weren't they? Old friends. Close friends. No need to be worried.

She opened the door and felt her face break into a smile. "Hey, Garrus."

#

Garrus Vakarian looked from the woman in front of him, down to the message on his omni-tool, and back, blinking. Shepard was just about the last person he'd expected to run into today. She looked... different, and not just because she was in civvies. Her hair was longer, tied off in little bunches around her face, and her face seemed a little... rounder. He might have passed her in a crowd without noticing her, which was an odd thought. But the eyes were the same, a familiar tawny brown, and the smile was, and the voice was unmistakable. "Shepard?"

Her smile widened. "Yeah. It's been a long time."

He looked down again to the message Lexa had sent. "I think Lex misspelled her friend's name."

"Well, it's David Alenko, not David Shepard. Come on in." She stepped aside and waved him in.

Garrus entered, shaking his head. "No, I would have recognized that." In fact, she had spelled the name "Elenco," so he hadn't made the connection at all.

"I didn't know, either. I mean, David talked about his new friend a lot, but then she showed up at the door looking just like you."

Garrus had always thought Lexa looked more like her mother, himself. He frowned, but tried for a joke. "I thought humans couldn't tell turians apart."

"Most of us can tell one set of markings from another, Garrus." Shepard traced a curve under her eye with her finger. "Hard to make a mistake with that, considering all the times I've seen your face."

"True." He looked around at the apartment. Comfortable and well furnished, but not lavish like the one she'd briefly occupied before the war.

Shepard said, "I thought you were on Palaven. What brings you back to the Citadel?"

"Work. I'm on the turian councilor's advising staff. The position opened up, it seemed like a good opportunity to get away from Palaven for a while, so—" he shrugged. "Here I am."

Shepard nodded, still smiling. "It sure is nice to see you again."

Garrus felt a touch of shame at that. He should have kept in better contact, but... it had been easier to keep some distance, for a while, and she hadn't written much, either. But looking at her now, with the wide, genuine smile she saved for friends, he regretted letting things go this long. "You too," he said, sincerely.

"You look well," she added, looking him up and down. "No visor, though? I thought that thing was surgically attached."

He flicked a mandible, automatically bringing his left hand up to where the visor used to sit. "The docs claim keeping a HUD on at all times is bad for my eyesight."

"Oh, what do they know."

"You look... different," Garrus ventured. "Not sure I would have recognized you in a crowd." Shepard's smile dimmed. She crossed her arms over her chest, hunching her shoulders a bit. Shit. It had been a while since he spent much time around humans, but he could still recognize defensive body language when he saw it. "Your hair. It's different," he added in a rush, hoping he wasn't saying something offensive.

"Oh." Her stance relaxed. She lifted one hand and smoothed her hair. "Yeah, I grew it out. I don't need to keep it short enough for combat any more."

"That's one of the things that's hard to get used to about humans," he said. "It's so easy for you to change your appearance." Different hairstyles, skin darker or lighter due to sun exposure, gain or loss of body mass, cosmetics; it was all very complicated.

"I suppose so."

Silence fell, and Garrus shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncertain what to say next. He should probably just collect Lexa and go, before he managed to say something else awkward.

Before he could ask where the kids were, Shepard said, "And... how's your wife?"

Garrus stiffened, the loss feeling raw all over again. She didn't know? How was it she didn't know? She must have noticed his reaction, because her forehead creased and her mouth turned down into a frown. "Garrus? I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"Mely died," he said, forcing the words out. "Last year. There was a skycar accident."

Shepard's eyes widened. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry." She hesitated a moment before laying a hand on his arm. "I hadn't heard, I don't know how..."

He let out a breath, slowly, trying to relax. "Well, I... had a lot of things on my mind at the time. Lexa was... wasn't doing well, and I guess I forgot to spread the word properly." He hadn't thought about telling Shepard specifically at all, as far as he could remember, though he was still surprised Tali or Liara hadn't said something to her.

"I'm really sorry," she said again. "It's not your fault, at all. I remember what it was like, when Kaidan died. The news did a better job of telling people than I did."

He looked down, aware of the pressure and warmth of her hand on his arm, her five slim fingers spread out against the dark blue of his sleeve. She looked down, too, her grip tightening for a moment, and then she pulled her hand back and crossed her arms. He felt the sudden absence, as if the ghost of her touch lingered. "David was really upset," she added. "I can imagine what you were going through."

He sighed, automatically glancing around for any sign of the children, or an open door. "Yeah. Lex was actually in the skycar during the accident. She was strapped in in the back, and the damage was all in the front. Head-on collision. So she wasn't badly hurt, but she saw the whole thing."

"God." Shepard squeezed her eyes shut. "How awful for her."

"Yeah, it was," he said shortly. It was only in the last couple of months that she'd stopped waking up screaming on a regular basis. "I moved us here because I thought a change of scene might be good for her. Somewhere with fewer memories." For Lexa, if not for him. The Citadel had been substantially rebuilt twice since he'd been with C-Sec, though, and at least it was somewhere he and Mely had never lived together.

Shepard nodded. "I can see why you'd want a change. How's it working out? Is she adjusting all right?"

"Pretty well. She seems to like school. She talks about David a lot. I think it's helping her to have a friend."

"I'm glad." Shepard smiled. "We shouldn't be surprised that our kids hit it off, huh?"

He managed a smile himself, his tension gradually fading. "I suppose not. Listen, I wish we could stay longer, but we're supposed to meet Lexa's aunt for dinner."

"Your sister's here, too?"

Garrus shook his head. "No, not Solana. Mely's younger sister is with C-Sec."

"Oh, okay. Well, I don't want to make you late. David's room is over this way," she said, leading the way toward the right.

The door she indicated opened before they got there, and Lexa came hurtling out, still in her school uniform, though barefoot. "Dad!"

He grunted as she barreled into his chest, catching her in a hug. "Easy there. Did you have a good time?" He glanced at the human boy trailing after her, hesitating in the doorway.

"Yes! Dad, David has the best games, he has the new version of Galaxy of Fantasy—"

"Can you tell me about it later?" he interrupted. "You know we need to leave to meet your aunt. Find your shoes."

There was a slight rumble in his subtones that told her to mind her manners, too. "Okay! They're right by the door," she said, turning to Shepard. "Thank you very much for letting me come over, um... David's mom."

Garrus winced and stole a glance at Shepard who was grinning. He sighed. "Lex. This is Commander Shepard."

"Oh!" Her eyes widened and her mandibles flared. "Really? I mean, I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize."

He was fairly sure Shepard was trying not to laugh as she said, "It's all right, Lexa. It was nice to meet you."

"Nicetomeetyoutoo," she said in a rush, and went bounding over to find her shoes and put them on. She never seemed to walk anywhere when she could run or spring. Sometimes it made him feel old. Garrus followed her at a more sedate adult pace.

"Bye, Lexa," called David.

"Bye!" she called back.

"You know what?" Shepard said, joining them at the door. "It's been too long since we've talked. We should get together, have dinner or something. The kids can keep each other company, we can catch up..."

Garrus hesitated. It was sudden; he hadn't given any thought to what he might do if unexpectedly ran into Shepard again. But Lexa was bouncing on her toes and looking hopeful. "Can we? That would be fun, Dad."

He gave in, of course. He and Shepard had been friends, hadn't they, before anything else? They could go back to that. "Sure. Send me a ping and we'll find a time."

"Sounds good," she said, smiling.

#

Shepard lingered in the doorway, watching them go. Lexa didn't nearly reach her tall father's shoulder, and skipped along to keep up with his longer strides. Garrus had turned his head toward her, probably to listen to a stream of chatter Shepard couldn't quite make out. The angle gave her a view of the faded scars from the long-ago gunship. For a moment she remembered one awkward, precious night in her quarters, and the feel of rough, healing flesh under her fingertips.

"Hey, Mom. Mom!"

"Mm?" She let the door close and turned her attention back to David.

"How come Lexa's dad knew you?"

She smiled, wry and a little wistful. "David, honey, a lot of people know me. But, you remember the stories Dad and I used to tell you, about our time on the _Normandy_?" She and Kaidan had been very careful about the tales they'd told him—nothing too harsh or scary for a child—but they'd told odds and ends of funny stories about their friends, over the years.

"Yeah?"

"That's our friend Garrus."

"Really?" David's eyes grew round. "Wow!"

Shepard chuckled to herself. She was just _mom_, of course, nobody to be impressed with, but the sudden appearance of the turian from his parents' stories earned a 'wow.' Well, everything they said probably seemed ancient and unreal to him, stories about fairy-tale soldiers who no longer existed.

Her hip twinged, reminding her that that was true, in a way. Commander Shepard of the _Normandy_ was a long time in the past. "Homework," she reminded her son. "What do you have tonight?"


	3. Chapter 3

"I brought wine," Garrus said.

Shepard's face split into a grin. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if it was the best he could afford, but Lexa piped up, "We brought lots of things," brandishing a bag that appeared to be stacked full of containers.

"Oh, wow," Shepard said, taking in the volume of the bags both of them carried. "You really didn't have to."

Arranging dinner had taken some effort. They'd exchanged a bunch of messages back and forth, working around the complexities of the various schedules involved. It had been complicated enough that Shepard had almost suspected that Garrus didn't really want to get together after all—until they'd settled on a Friday night (or, at least, what Shepard still thought of as a Friday night, even though the names of days and the length of the week were different). The main advantage was that the kids didn't have school the next day, so they could take a leisurely evening.

She'd also found an opportunity to call Liara and ask, trying not to sound accusing, why Liara hadn't told her about Garrus's wife's death.

Liara had blinked at her, looking puzzled. "But... that happened almost a year ago. I thought you knew."

"No, I found out when I put my foot in it and asked him how she was."

"Awkward," Liara had murmured, before pausing, a gleam in her eyes. "Wait—you saw Garrus?"

"It's not a big deal," Shepard had said hastily. "We happened to run into each other. The kids are at the same school."

"I'm not surprised," Liara had said. "Still... you haven't seen each other for quite a while, have you?"

"Still not a big deal," Shepard had told her, and they'd exchanged some other news before signing off.

But if it wasn't a big deal, it still gave her a thrill of satisfaction to usher Garrus and Lexa into the apartment, leading the way to the kitchen.

"Cross-species dining is always a little complicated," Garrus explained. "I thought it would be easiest to bring our own."

"That's fine. I cooked for David and me, but I didn't want to screw things up for you, so I was going to order takeout."

Garrus set down the bags and started pulling out containers of food before suddenly pausing. "Shepard. You cooked?"

There was a glint in his eye and a teasing note in his voice. She recognized the mode from a hundred jokes about her aim, her dancing, and her driving. She crossed her arms and scowled at him. "I can cook."

"That's not the way I remember it."

"Hi!" David burst into the kitchen. "What are you talking about? Hi, Lexa, hi, Mr., um—"

"Just Garrus is fine," he said, still busily spreading out containers. "We were talking about your mother's lack of cooking skills."

Shepard put her hands on her hips. "I can cook!"

"Shepard, once you set the _sink_ in the galley on fire. I didn't even know that was possible."

Shepard groaned. That had been a particularly mortifying day on the SR-2. One of the few times she attempted to make herself a snack, and... "The pan caught fire, and I was just trying to put it out..." She glared as all three members of her audience laughed. None of them seemed properly chastened. "I _learned_ to cook," she said with dignity. "I've learned a few things in the last few years, Vakarian." It was true her cooking skills had been rudimentary back then, after years of living on whatever the Alliance served, but she could certainly follow the instructions in a damned recipe.

"Oh yeah?" Garrus grinned at her and leaned toward David, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "How's your mom's cooking, David?"

The boy giggled. Shepard frowned at him. "It's good," he admitted hastily.

"How's your _dad's_ cooking, Lexa?" Shepard demanded, and the girl nearly fell over herself laughing.

"David, did anyone ever tell you about the time your mother broke a restaurant?" Garrus countered.

That set the tone for the evening. Mercifully, Garrus did not elaborate upon the setting-fire-to-the-sink incident. At least falling through the floor of the damned sushi restaurant—which _no one, ever_ could manage to let go—was something that Shepard could blame on the mercenaries, and she managed to redirect Garrus before he actually mentioned the clone. They all had more than enough to eat, and somehow they wound up exchanging stories between bites. Stories of the old days, back on the _Normandy_, most of them beginning "Remember when—" Not... the hard parts, the pain and loss and fear, but the funny parts in-between. Ashley and Wrex arm-wrestling. Mordin singing for the crew. Vega's shuttle abuse. The misadventures of Grunt and his action figures. Dancing competitions, mishaps, friendship. Shepard hadn't laughed so much in longer than she could recall. She'd almost forgotten how easily Garrus could make her laugh. It had been a shock, back on the SR-1, the first time he'd slid a quiet, sly joke into the conversation. She couldn't even remember what the joke had been any more, just that she and Kaidan and Ashley had all turned and stared, not expecting that from the turian police officer who up until then had confined his remarks to the polite and strictly professional. Garrus had looked down with a flick of his mandibles—probably uncomfortable, she'd realized later—and then Kaidan had laughed, and after that all four of them had relaxed a little more around each other.

Her knee bumped against his beneath the table. Garrus gave her a slight, sideways grin, and Shepard smiled back. "How about dessert?" she suggested.

"Sure," said Garrus.

"Ice cream?" David asked hopefully.

"How about a sundae?" Shepard asked, heading into the kitchen. "I can get it," she added as Garrus started to get up.

"Well then," he said, settling back. "What else would you like to hear about, David?"

"Tell another story about Grunt?"

"About Grunt? Hmm. Stories about Grunt. Did your mother ever tell you about how Grunt joined a krogan clan?"

"No..."

In the kitchen, Shepard paused, listening as Garrus told the tale. She could hear him setting the scene—the arid landscape, the ruins of krogan civilization all around them. His voice dropped quieter, and she couldn't quite make out the words any more. She busied herself getting out the ice cream and toppings. She knew what had happened, after all.

"... and then the ground started to shake, and BAM! The rocks split apart and out came a thresher maw!"

Both of the children gasped. Shepard shook her head. Even thresher maws, once the worst thing she'd ever known, became a source of thrills and amusement on the tongue of a skilled storyteller.

The worst thing she'd ever known, before the Reapers. They'd stayed away from that subject. Most of the stories they'd told had not been tales of combat. Even now she found it hard to find much humor in husks or Collectors or Reapers.

Her fingers had tightened around the ice cream scoop. She took a breath and relaxed her grip to finish scooping into bowls. Ice cream, chocolate syrup, chopped nuts. Garrus had packed some surprisingly pink frozen concoction for the two of them—something like a fruit sorbet, maybe. She set everything on a tray, grabbed four spoons, and headed back to the dining room.

David greeted her with wide eyes. "Mom! Did you really kill a thresher maw? On foot?"

"I did," she said, settling back into her seat with her sundae. She sent Garrus a smile. "With a little help."

"Grunt wasn't exactly little. You also had a missile launcher, I believe."

Her smile broadened as she remembered the satisfying weight and kickback. "Yes, I did." She'd loved playing with heavy weapons, back in the day. The missile launcher wasn't as versatile as the Collector particle beam, maybe, but she had preferred its heft and normality to the particle beam's oddly weightless firing and peculiar organic residue.

They all settled in for a few quiet minutes of eating. Lexa finished first, licking out her bowl with a slender tongue until Garrus cleared his throat and frowned at her. David set his bowl down next. "Hey Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Where was Dad, when you were killing that thresher maw? Didn't he go with you?"

The blob of ice cream sliding down her throat seemed to catch. When they'd landed on Tuchanka, her feelings had been flayed raw from Horizon. She'd tried to keep Kaidan out of her thoughts—she'd been short with Wrex when he asked after him—but she'd still been turning the confrontation over in her mind. Under their son's expectant gaze, Shepard coughed. "No. Your dad wasn't on that mission, sweetie. He had another assignment."

"Oh." He didn't press it, thank goodness, spooning the last of his ice cream into his mouth. "Can we go play Galaxy of Fantasy?"

Shepard glanced at Garrus, who shrugged. "I don't see why not." The two children went scrambling off to David's room.

The two adults were quiet for a moment. Shepard was taking the last bites of her sundae when Garrus said, "You, ah, haven't explained the whole Cerberus thing to him, have you?"

She grimaced, stretching out her left hand and tightening it into a fist. The cybernetics were still there, running through the skin and muscle and bone, though they no longer glimmered orange through her skin when she was in a bad mood. A lot of the implants were damaged or dormant, since the war. What was still functioning was probably responsible for her survival, but she hadn't pushed her body or its modifications to their limits in years. "No. It's... it's just too complicated. If he knows anything about Cerberus, it's that they were collaborators during the war. We were working in such a gray area. I think he's too young to understand." Garrus was looking at her with a serious expression she couldn't quite read, browplates pulled down. Shepard added, "I mean, you haven't told Lexa about all that, have you?"

"Actually," he said slowly, "I did, a little. Not everything, because you're right, it's complicated. But I try not to hide things from her."

"I'm not hiding things," Shepard said, a little defensive. "I'll explain when he's old enough to understand."

He leaned back in his chair. "Sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I guess I didn't really make a point of the Cerberus angle. She probably thinks you had an independent command. Close enough to the truth, don't you think?"

She managed a smile that felt tight and brittle. "Yeah. I suppose so. The other thing—" She looked down, pushing the melted remnants of her sundae around in the bowl. "I don't want to get into the Lazarus Project. He's only ten. I don't know how to tell him that I... actually died, and it took indoctrinated terrorists to bring me back." Garrus snorted, but she pushed on, "And he needs to understand that that's not happening again, that his dad is never coming back. I don't want to set up any kind of false hope."

Garrus sobered immediately. "I see your point."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. His gaze was distant, fixed on the other side of the room, while he slowly twirled a spoon through his fingers. She had to curb the impulse to reach out and take it out of his hand. Instead, she bumped her knee lightly against his, and he blinked, turning his attention back to her.

"Tell me about Palaven," she said, changing the subject. "How did you manage to avoid becoming Primarch, all these years?"

He laughed. "I made very sure that Victus stayed in good health."

She grinned. "Figures you'd become the Primarch's right-hand man, instead."

"Hardly that." He shrugged. "I don't know. After the war, everyone was doing a bit of everything. Victus kept on asking me for advice. I did some work restoring comm systems, helped rebuild Palaven's defenses. Served as liaison with the krogan, for a while. Occasional field ops. Feels like I've been doing a bit of everything."

Shepard smiled to herself. There was an odd sort of vicarious pleasure—pride, almost—in seeing Garrus get the respect and status he deserved.

"What about you?" he asked, head tilted to the side.

"Intelligence analysis, if you can believe that. I'm reviewing the reports of Spectres and other field agents, keeping them honest, looking for patterns." She laughed. "Seems like a lot of brain work for a grunt like me, but I like it."

"Shepard, you were never just a grunt."

She looked at him, startled by the odd buzz in his subtones. Reproof? "What do you mean?"

The look Garrus shot her was obviously skeptical. "You fought hard, but you also fought smart. You knew how to pick your moments and use your team's skills. Sound tactics, expert positioning, the right weapon for the right job. Even when—" He broke off. "It's one of the ways I knew it was you, back on Omega."

"Huh." Shepard had always had a hard time thinking of herself as doing anything extraordinary. She had worked hard, surely, but she'd only done her duty, and if she'd accomplished extraordinary things, it was largely because she'd had to, in order to survive. Garrus's words gave her a different perspective on her career. Maybe she hadn't just been a marine with a gun who kept finding herself in over her head, after all. "Hm. Maybe you're right."

He leaned back, cocky and relaxed. "Haven't you learned by now that I'm always right?"

She kicked his ankle, laughing.


	4. Chapter 4

A week later, Shepard let David knock on the door of the Vakarians' apartment. It was Lexa who answered, bouncing on her toes, mandibles flared out in a grin. "Hi, David! Hi, um, Commander! Please come in."

Shepard smiled at her enthusiasm. "Thanks, Lexa." She stepped into the apartment with a powerful curiosity; she'd never been in a turian home before, and she had a hard time thinking of Garrus as having any possessions beyond armor and guns.

The apartment both was and wasn't quite what she'd expected. It was meticulously neat and clean, and the decor was quite minimalist. The door opened right into what Shepard assumed was the living room, which had an expansive view of the Presidium ring. To her human eye, all the furniture was subtly oddly shaped, arched and angular, obviously built in turian style. Shepard frowned. She had never given a single thought to the question of whether Garrus was comfortable in human-styled furniture.

"Hey, Shepard," Garrus called from the kitchen, off to her right. "I'm in the middle of something, so give me a minute, and make yourself comfortable."

"Can I show David my room?" Lexa asked. The kid was practically vibrating with suppressed excitement.

Shepard smiled. "Sure, go ahead." She watched the children disappear down the hallway to the left. Shepard followed just far enough to glance down the corridor; there was a bathroom at the end of the hall, Lexa's room, where she could hear the kids talking, and one more closed door, presumably to Garrus's bedroom. She returned to the living room and looked around. There was a standard holoscreen mounted on the wall, but besides that there were two honest-to-God paintings, depicting an unfamiliar landscape. Somewhere on Palaven, she supposed. She noticed a photo frame resting on one of the end tables, but she didn't have time for more than a glimpse of it before Garrus called her name.

She turned around, finding him leaning on the counter that separated the kitchen and living room. "Dinner should be ready in twenty," he said. "Can I offer you a glass of wine?"

"I brought the wine this time," she reminded him. She'd handed the bottle to Lexa, who'd left it on the counter before leading David off to her room.

"I saw. Nice choice."

Shepard settled down on a stool facing the counter and accepted the glass of wine he presented. "So what's your plan, Vakarian?"

He gave her a slightly sly grin. "I thought I'd surprise you."

She rolled her eyes, taking a sip. "You know how I feel about surprises."

"No, I don't believe I do."

"Come on, you don't remember when Kelly wanted to throw me a surprise party? I told her I hate surprises."

"Oh, I thought it was that you hated parties." Garrus grinned again. "Or just Cerberus."

"I don't hate parties," she protested. "I had everyone to that party at the apartment."

"Didn't Joker talk you into that one?"

Shepard frowned, trying to come up with a good rejoinder, when she recognized the aroma in the air. "Did you make lasagna?"

Garrus gave her one of the most self-satisfied smirks she'd seen in quite a while. "Sure did. I got detailed directions from an old friend from C-Sec, so I hope it came out all right."

She sniffed. "Well, it smells good." Mouthwatering, in fact. She took another swallow and raised her eyebrows. "What, is this some kind of challenge? I didn't want to cook dextro, so you'll show me up by cooking levo?"

His mandibles flared. "Would I do that?"

Shepard grinned back. "You? Get overly competitive? Never."

"_Overly_ implies there's something wrong with the level of competitiveness."

She smiled, but there was a subject she'd been meaning to raise, and she didn't want to get too distracted. "Listen, there's something I wanted to ask you."

His browplates twitched up. "Go ahead."

Shepard sighed and glanced down at the counter. "David keeps talking about wanting to join the Alliance when he's old enough."

Garrus hesitated for a moment. "Is that a problem? You joined up as soon as you could, didn't you?"

She sighed again. "Yeah, but I joined the military because it seemed like the only way out. After everything I've been through, everything we've seen... I wish he'd do something else with his life. I hate to think of him experiencing anything like I did." She looked up. "How do you handle it, knowing she's going to have to serve?"

She couldn't read Garrus at all for a moment, his expression very still. "Maybe it's easier if you're not contemplating other possibilities," he said slowly. "All turians serve, and service is more than just combat. It could mean a lot of different things."

She nodded, but he wasn't done. "I'm not going to lie. I'd be very happy if she ended up another specialty. Medicine, maybe, like her mom. Or engineering. Something other than front-line combat. But we're not at war, now, and every profession has its risks. _Life_ has risk. You could do everything in your power to keep him safe, and one day there could be an... an accident, and that would be it."

His voice had gone discordant. Shepard flinched at the raw note in his subvocals and impulsively reached across the counter, but he moved before she could take his hand, crossing his arms. "The best I can do for Lexa is make sure she's prepared, that she has the education and training to make the most of whatever she wants to do, wherever she gets assigned. They take months fitting trainees into the right positions, you know."

Shepard nodded. She still hadn't quite settled her mind on the issue, but she appreciated his perspective. The timer went off just then and Garrus turned away to pull pans out of the oven.

The lasagna was good; Shepard admitted it freely, much to Garrus's pleasure. He put both Lexa and David to work cleaning up after dinner, but shooed off Shepard's offer of help, so she wandered through the living room again. She ambled back to the picture frame on the table for a closer look. Lexa, maybe a little younger than she was now, in the arms of a turian woman Shepard didn't know.

"That's my mom."

Shepard hadn't heard the girl come up next to her. "I can see that," she said. There was definitely a resemblance in build and coloring. She searched her mind for something to say, remembering all the well-intentioned but stupid remarks that had pissed her off and made David cry after Kaidan's death. She settled on, "You must miss her a lot."

"Yeah," Lexa said. There was a waver in her subtones that was starting to become familiar to Shepard, and her mandibles were quivering slightly.

To ease her out of whatever was in her mind's eye, Shepard asked, "Where was this taken?"

Lexa blinked, seeming to come back to her current surroundings. "We went hiking in the Tavus mountains when I was eight. Mom and Dad said I was old enough to do a real overnight camping trip." To Shepard's relief, she smiled. "It was fun. We saw a grazus and a lot of eferiae." Shepard glanced at her omni-tool for explanation; scrolling text informed her that a grazus was a large predator, now rare except in the mountains of Palaven's largest continent, and eferiae were a kind of birdlike creature that nested in remote areas.

It occurred to Shepard that she'd never had the kind of childhood that included hiking. Kaidan had; they'd taken David out camping when they went back to Earth to visit his parents. Shepard had learned then that she knew about Alliance survival training, but not the first thing about wandering through the wilderness for fun. City girl, Kaidan had called her, with a laugh, and taught her about campfire songs and the fun of toasting snacks over the fire. She'd taken David back to visit his grandparents a couple of times since Kaidan had died, but it wasn't the same. It had never occurred to her to organize a camping trip on her own; even if it had, the idea of camping with just her and a boy who wasn't always conscientious about his chores had a limited appeal. "So your dad was taking pictures?" she asked Lexa.

"They took turns. Here." Lexa pushed the button on the frame, and the picture cycled through several more: Garrus hoisting Lexa into the air, the girl laughing; Lexa and her mother looking off into the distance, shading their eyes, their poses a deliberate imitation of each other. The last was a somewhat off-center, crooked picture of Garrus and his wife, arms around each other, heads tilted toward each other. Shepard bit her lip at the look on his face, showing a fondness and intensity that were... familiar. She knew that look, or something like it; she'd seen it on him before. She couldn't be jealous, not really. The two of them looked far too happy for that. The turian woman in the picture looked back at him with an equal affection. But she couldn't avoid the memories, and some complex emotion churned inside her.

"It looks like you all had a good time," she made herself say, her voice quiet.

Lexa didn't seem to notice. "Yeah, we did." She offered Shepard a small smile and headed back to the kitchen.

Once they'd cleaned up, Lexa wanted to play a game, some typically turian strategic battlefield thing. They played in teams, "Vakarians vs. Shepards," according to Garrus. Shepard didn't bother reminding him that David's last name was Alenko. David, predictably, got very excited (if a little too aggressive, tactically speaking) and couldn't stop talking about what he'd do when he learned to shoot. Shepard sighed.

"Hey, Shepard," Garrus said hesitantly, while the kids put the pieces away. "If you'd like, I can take David out for a lesson the next time I take Lexa. If you don't mind, I mean. I don't want to overstep, but you didn't seem enthusiastic, and it wouldn't be any trouble."

Shepard blinked. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. We go down to the shooting range every two or three days. It won't be hard to look after both of them."

She thought about it for a minute. She didn't feel up to that kind of training herself; she and David tended to rub each other the wrong way when she tried to show him how to do something. They were both a little too impatient, maybe. If there was anyone else she trusted to hand her son a gun, it would be Garrus; he'd always been patient, too. Besides, maybe it would be good for David to spend some time around a male adult. "Sure," she said. "All right. Who better, after all?" She smiled at him.

Garrus gave her a puzzled look. "Shepard, you're not half bad yourself, you know."

Her smile fell. "It's been a while since I handled a gun, Garrus."

He gave her another close look, his expression suddenly neutral. She rethought how that might have sounded and suppressed a wince, hoping he hadn't interpreted her remark _that_ way... even if it was true that way, too. But what he said was, "Then you'll have to get in practice before our rematch, Shepard."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Rematch?"

He gave her a crooked grin. "Surely you haven't forgotten? Up on the Presidium? I won, remember?"

She smiled a little, thinking back. No, indeed; how could she have forgotten one of the best days she'd had during those bleak, horrifying days of the war? Garrus had had to persuade her to take a few hours off, but the end, she'd enjoyed every minute of it. She'd missed the shot, laughed with him over his 'victory,' headed down for drinks afterward. A rare bit of light and relaxation.

"After losing last time, I assumed you'd want to try again," he drawled, with a bit of mischief playing around his eyes.

She looked down at her hands. She'd rarely used a rifle in the last twelve years. She'd even lost the callouses. "You know what, Garrus? I think I concede. I'll just leave you as reigning champion of the bottle shooters." She looked up with a tight smile, and found his expression had shifted, mandibles pulled in and brow plates low over his eyes. Not quite a frown, but on the edge of it.

"If you're sure, Shepard."

"Yeah," she said quickly. "I'm sure. And you should definitely take David with you to the shooting range next time."

#

Garrus reflected that David Alenko looked like his father, although his skin was darker, but his personality reminded Garrus more of Shepard. Kaidan Alenko had been one of the more disciplined and controlled humans Garrus had known; Shepard was capable of discipline, of course, but was more likely to be spontaneous, even impetuous. Their son was all enthusiasm and excitement. He bounced through his first session at the shooting and quickly grew impatient. "I'm awful at this," he complained, looking from his own target to Lexa's much more precise results. His shoulders drooped.

"You're a beginner," Garrus told him. "Lexa's been practicing for months already. Have a little patience." The boy frowned, and Garrus tried to think of an example. "You practice at biotics, don't you?"

David nodded. "We have training twice a week, the last two years."

"What can you do?"

"I can make a barrier, and I can move things some." He raised his fist and his brows drew together in concentration, a blue haze gathering around him. Slowly, the jacket he'd left near the entrance lifted from its peg.

"Good," Garrus noted with approval. "Could you do that when you started?"

David shook his head and the jacket fell back to its place. "No."

"This is the same thing. Using a gun well is harder than it looks. If you work at it, you'll get better."'

The boy did improve, though he didn't focus as easily as Lexa did, and his tendency to tense up when frustrated made things harder for him. Garrus wasn't sure how much to attribute to human psychology and how much to his individual temperament. David was definitely making progress, though, enough that he could see it himself, and that helped him persevere and concentrate.

"You're already getting better," Garrus noted at the end of their third session, as he watched David and Lexa clean their rifles. He'd already impressed on both of them that proper maintenance of the weapons was essential.

David ducked his head. "Good. I want to be a marine, too."

Garrus hesitated. Maybe it wasn't his place to raise the subject, since he knew it was a sore spot for Shepard. He wrestled with his thoughts for a moment before venturing, "You know your mother worries about that."

David nodded, keeping his eyes on his task. "I know. She worries about a lot of things."

Garrus found his interest piqued. "Does she?"

"I think so. She says I'm too young to think about enlisting, but I'm not." He frowned. "She says I don't need to think about politics or anything like that. I don't know why she doesn't want me to join. I mean, she was in the Alliance, wasn't she?" He looked up at Garrus. "Do you know why? You were there, too, right?"

Lexa looked up, also interested, and Garrus felt suddenly that he was on dangerous ground. He'd told Lexa plenty of stories about his past, including Shepard and the _Normandy_. Sure, he'd left out details he thought might be frightening, but on the whole he'd been frank, and he'd told her an honest, if simplified, version of galactic political events, too. Ignorance didn't lead to security, in his mind, and his position in the Hierarchy was prominent enough that he wanted her to be aware of potential dangers. Shepard had evidently made different choices; it was odd to think that Lexa might know more about Shepard's career than her own son did.

Garrus wasn't entirely comfortable with the direction Shepard had taken, but those choices were hers to make. It wasn't his place to give David information she'd opted to conceal, so he chose his words carefully. "I was. I don't know exactly why, David, but I think your mother's had a hard life, in some ways. I know she went through a lot of difficult times when we worked together." That was a dramatic understatement, he admitted to himself; Shepard had been under immense pressure, especially during the war. "Maybe she'd rather not think about it." That idea stung a little, that she might want to forget that time. In spite of their hardships, the years he'd worked with Shepard had been incredibly important in his life, and he wouldn't have traded them for anything. She didn't seem unhappy to talk about the past with him, though, so maybe he was wrong about that. "Or maybe she wants to protect you from the kind of experiences she had. I can't be sure."

David nodded slowly. "I want to join anyway. I want to be like my mom and dad and Admiral Anderson. I want to fight for people who need help."

"That's a good goal," Garrus told him, hoping Shepard wouldn't think he was out of line to say so. "You're going to need to work hard to get there, though."

For once, David's face was entirely serious, and he looked uncannily like his father. "I know. I'll do it."

Garrus believed him.

#

A couple of sessions later, instead of dropping David off, Shepard came in. "Are you joining us, Shepard?" Garrus asked, feeling a little thrill of anticipation.

She shook her head, the braids of her hair bouncing against her cheeks. "No, but I thought I'd watch, if you don't mind. David said he wanted me to see his progress."

Garrus blinked at her, puzzled. Not for the first time, he wished he had his visor to give him a little more information on what was going on with her. Sometimes she seemed so different from her old self that he didn't know what to make of her. Now, for example, she watched them quietly, her hands in the pockets of her faded blue trousers. She seemed unassuming, ordinary, almost small. He remembered her as larger than life, a noticeable presence everywhere she went, and not merely because of her habit of going everywhere in full kit and packing a small arsenal. He got the kids started at their targets, but kept half an eye on Shepard. More than once she flinched at the report of the rifles, but otherwise her face was still and neutral. He found it unnerving to see her like this, as if she were a civilian, and not a marine commander. Did humans regularly do this sort of thing? Reinvent themselves so thoroughly that it was difficult to find traces of their old lives? It would have been odd behavior for a turian, especially this apparent discomfort with guns. Even his father, retired and increasingly frail, was a regular at the local shooting range. He should probably leave well enough alone, but her demeanor now, on top of how she'd acted over the last few weeks, made him edgy. "Sure you don't want to try a few shots, Shepard?" he asked, trying to conceal his nervousness.

Shepard didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She was watching David, who was intent on his target. The corners of her mouth turned down, and she seemed suddenly restless, shifting her weight back and forth, pulling her hands out of her pockets and rubbing her upper arms. She glanced at Lexa, at Garrus, back at David, and finally said, "All right, I'll give it a try. Do you have a Viper, by any chance?"

Garrus relaxed slightly. "Of course," he said, finding her the gun she wanted in his locker.

David grinned, turning from his own weapon. "Mom, are you gonna let Garrus teach you, too?"

Garrus winced. "I doubt your mom needs any pointers from me, David."

Shepard checked the rifle over thoroughly, exactly as he would expect. She shrugged off her jacket and took the center target, the one Garrus used when he wanted to demonstrate something. David and Lexa both watched expectantly. Garrus almost held his breath, hoping he hadn't made a mistake. Shepard raised the rifle to her shoulder, in a fluid motion that was breathtakingly familiar to him. She sighted, took a breath, and fired.

Perfect. Precisely placed in the target's head. Garrus let out the breath he'd been holding. If Shepard noticed, she didn't react. She fired again, another clean shot. Two in the target's chest. Two more in the head. She ejected the spent heat sink and took the fresh one Garrus held out in a smooth, automatic movement, as if she'd been doing this daily for years. Finally she lowered the rifle and blinked rapidly, looking at the target. "Whoa."

"Wow, Mom," said David, his brown eyes wide.

"That was really good," Lexa added in a soft voice.

Shepard looked over to Garrus and smiled. "I guess I've still got it."

"Just like old times," he drawled back, more relieved than he could say to see her looking more like herself. He couldn't let her get too satisfied with herself, though, adding, "Let's not discuss your driving, though. Some things I'd rather not remember."

Shepard screwed up her face into a scowl. "Very funny." She stepped back. "Go on with your lessons, kids."


	5. Chapter 5

Shepard hadn't been sure about joining Garrus and the kids at the shooting range. But David had wheedled, begging her to come see his progress, so she'd gone, against her better judgment. She wasn't used to the sound of gunshots any more; after the war, the roar of gunfire and explosions, the mechanical whine of turrets, the dire sounds of the Reapers' beam weapons had all haunted her dreams. It had been a long time, though, and she seemed to be over it, or near enough.

She'd still been hesitant, when she'd taken a rifle into her hands, but it had felt _good_. She'd basked in the glow, taking pride in her skill, in how easily the rhythm came back to her. Feeling a certain pleasure at the unguarded admiration in David's eyes, and at the sparkle in Garrus's.

It wasn't until that night, when Shepard lay awake, trying to will herself to fall asleep, that she started having second thoughts.

Why had it been so easy? It shouldn't be, should it? She hadn't seen combat in years, had hardly even touched a gun. Was it just muscle memory, long-practiced skills coming back to her? Or was it... something else, an effect of the cybernetics Cerberus had used to resurrect her? And all the enhancements she'd added after? Were they still driving her, after all this time. She clenched her hands around the blankets, remembering the sting of the injections, the skin weaves, bone weaves, muscle weaves, all the things that had made her stronger and faster and tougher. She'd awakened in a Cerberus lab and they'd told her she was a cyborg, metal and circuits under her skin. Why not go even further, then? It had seemed so necessary to push herself harder and further, to make herself into the perfect soldier, if she was going to have any chance against the Collectors, or the Reapers.

She let go of the bedding and rolled onto her side, curling herself up. She'd put that drive aside along with the weight of everything. The girl who cried Reaper, the savior of the Citadel, the killer of Aratoht, the point of the spear. It was all behind her now. _Just like old times_, Garrus had said. It shouldn't be so easy to slide back to the way things had been.

In other ways, though... in other ways it was not _enough_ like old times. Shepard frowned into the darkness and flopped over onto her other side. Take moments like these; here she was, alone in her apartment, except for her son sleeping in his own room. Hell if she was going to do anything that would wake him; without enough sleep, he was miserably cranky. In the old days, if she couldn't sleep, she'd wander down to the crew deck for a snack and something to drink, and there was a good chance she'd find Garrus still up fiddling with weapons mods, or Tali fine-tuning her omni-tool, or Liara poring over a report. Garrus had kept very odd hours after Omega—or maybe turians just didn't have the same sleep patterns as humans—and she couldn't remember how many times they'd spent an hour or two in the middle of the night just talking. It was good to spend time with him again—_beyond_ good—but it wasn't the same. They were so settled into civilian life now. Work and kids made schedules complicated, and that meant they got together once a week or so. It just wasn't the same kind of easy camaraderie there had once been. She missed it—missed him, oddly, even if she saw him pretty regularly now. And the rest, too. There were so many of the old crew she'd had only sporadic contact with over the last several years, and, lying alone in the dark, Shepard suddenly missed them all fiercely. Maybe... maybe she should try harder to get back in touch. Organize a reunion, even.

It was on that thought that she finally dropped into sleep.

#

As if her half-finished notion had summoned him, James Vega showed up at her door the next afternoon.

"Lola! Lookin' good!"

Shepard smiled and accepted the big marine's bear hug. "Good to see you, James. You didn't tell me you were going to be on the Citadel."

Stepping back, he shrugged. "You know how it is. Orders change at the last minute. Supposed to make a report to the councilor, now I find I'm not on the schedule til tomorrow."

She nodded. "Hurry up and wait, that's the Alliance way." James had made N7 long ago. He didn't look much different, maybe a little harder around the edges than the young lieutenant who'd been her guard and her subordinate. He was older now than she'd been at the end of the war, Shepard realized. It was a strange notion. "Do you have time to come in?" she asked.

James grinned. "It's what I came here for, Lola! And I've got something for the _nino._"

"Oh?" Only then did Shepard notice the carrier he'd set down to hug her, and the brown canine nose protruding from one end. "James," she said warily, "is that a puppy?"

James opened his mouth to answer, but just then David came bursting out of his room to join them. "Uncle James!"

"David!" He pronounced the name _dah-veed_, with the stress on the second syllable. "How ya doin', buddy?" James scooped the boy up for a hug and set him back down with a groan. "You are getting big, little man. Soon you're gonna be too big to carry, no?"

David looked skeptically at the big marine's massive arms and shoulders. "I don't think so, Uncle James."

Shepard grinned. Yeah, it was probably going to be a good long time before David was too big for James to pick up. He'd called James _uncle_ since he was small; James had brought him a teddy bear when he was a baby that had been a favorite for a long time, dragged around by its leg until the seams tore, spilling stuffing everywhere, and Shepard had had to use her rudimentary mending skills to put the thing back together. He might not be a blood relation, but James had always visited whenever time and circumstance permitted, treating David like a little brother.

James hauled up his duffel in one hand and the pet carrier in the other, and somehow all of them were bundled into the apartment, the door shutting behind him. "I brought you something," said James with an immense grin, and opened the door to the crate.

The puppy sprang out, a mass of golden-brown fur, barking jubilantly, and before Shepard quite knew what was happening, it was licking David's face, while her son sprawled on the floor and giggled helplessly.

Obviously the puppy was going to stay. "James," she said, but it came out more weary than stern, "you don't just get kids pets without asking. You do know who's going to end up taking care of that puppy, don't you?"

James shot her a sideways look. "What, you can't whip one ten-year-old into shape, Lola?"

This was her son, not a recruit, she wanted to say, but she took another look at David's face and gave up. "What kind of dog is that?"

James shrugged. "Dunno. Some kind of mutt. Part golden retriever, maybe some husky. Got him from a friend of mine. The mama's mostly retriever, one of the friendliest dogs you'll ever meet. Obedient, too. He's already housebroken. Should be a real good dog for you."

"I don't know what made you think we needed a dog," Shepard muttered, but David was calling, "Uncle James! What's his name?"

"I don't know, buddy, you're gonna have to pick one out." James leaned over and scratched the dog's ears with one hand, ruffling David's hair with the other.

Shepard stood back with her arms folded, but she couldn't help smiling at the scene. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. She _would_ have to have a talk with David about responsibility and caring for the animal, though.

The doorbell rang, but the door started to open as Shepard turned toward it, Garrus and Lexa appearing in the doorway. "Hey, Shepard?" Garrus said, "I think Lexa left her datapad here the other day..." He broke off abruptly. "What in the name of the spirits is that?"

Caught off-guard, Shepard tried to frame a response. James saved her, calling, "It's a puppy. What, haven't you ever seen a dog before?"

"I'm not sure," Garrus replied, letting the door shut behind them. He looked rather as if he were trying to decide whether the puppy was an enemy that was going to need shooting. Lexa appeared mesmerized, edging in a little further without straying too far from her father.

"James brought David a pet," Shepard explained.

James straightened up and did a double take. "Wait a second—hey, Scars! Wasn't expecting to see you here."

Garrus left off staring at the puppy. "Jimmy. How have you been?" The two men shook hands.

"Good, good. When did I see you last? Out in the Traverse, was it three or four years ago?"

"Four, I think, by your calendar," said Garrus.

Lexa was still staring at the puppy, inching further into the living room, where David and the dog had ended up in a heap of barks and giggles. Shepard kept one eye on the girl as she registered the two men's conversation. She put in, "Four years? I didn't know you two had seen each other since the war." Neither of them had mentioned it, and it was hard to imagine... well, it was odd, at least, to imagine them interacting without her.

"It was a joint op," said James. "Tracked down the source of those colonial pirate attacks, Hierarchy and Alliance decided to coordinate."

"Yeah, I was..." Garrus glanced at Lexa and lowered his voice a little, "... I was doing occasional field ops until Mely died."

Shepard blinked. It made sense, of course. She knew James spent a lot of time in the field, and there was no reason Garrus shouldn't use his skill and experience for the Hierarchy, but the idea of them in the field together, without her there, gave her a funny feeling in her stomach.

"I was sorry to hear about that, man," James said.

"Thanks," said Garrus, watching Lexa as she cautiously bent over to pet the dog. "I can't take the risk now. She's only got one parent left."

James nodded. "I get that. Hope the brass don't give you any trouble for it."

Garrus shook his head. "No. We can rearrange duties to accommodate family necessity."

"So this is the sprout, huh?" James said. He crossed his arms and grinned. "She's gonna need her own nickname."

"I reserve the right to veto any nickname you give my daughter," Garrus said dryly.

"Come on, Scars, I wouldn't do anything bad." James looked thoughtful. "Gonna have to think about it, though. Gotta pick the right one."

#

A few hours later, Shepard was tipsier than she'd been in quite a while. She'd had a glass or two of wine with dinner (takeout pizza for the humans and something Shepard didn't recognize for the turians); she'd had a couple of beers after dinner, with James egging her on; she'd had a cup of coffee as the evening went on, into which James had poured a generous shot of something from a flask, with a wink and a grin. Garrus and James had settled into a familiar competition, each story more outrageous than the last. Shepard knew there was truth in there somewhere, but the two of them were masters of stretching the truth like taffy, molding it, adding a heaping helping of fiction, and reshaping it into something entirely new. Shepard, meanwhile, couldn't stop herself from giggling at every enormous whopper.

She'd packed David off to bed a while ago, over sleepy protests. At least an hour, maybe even two. Garrus had looked apologetic then and said, "Guess we should go, then, I should get Lexa to bed."

"Oh, she could sleep in David's room," Shepard had blurted. Garrus had looked skeptical but eventually agreed, because Lexa was more than fine with rolling herself in blankets and settling down on the floor.

"I still don't understand the appeal of the dog," Garrus said now, as James came back from taking the newly named Rusty out to do his business.

"C'mon, Scars, don't you spiky aliens have pets?"

"Not really, no," Garrus said, leaning back in his seat with arms crossed over his chest. "We have domesticated animals for meat, but most of Palaven's wildlife either fears us or wants to eat us."

James shrugged. "Dogs are descended from predators, too. Domesticated wolves. They were hunting companions. Man's best friend."

Garrus flicked a mandible. "That thing hunts?"

"He's just a puppy," said Shepard. "Some dogs hunt with their people, isn't that right, Rusty?"

The puppy barked encouragingly and then flopped himself down on the floor next to Shepard.

"But humans bred dogs for all sorts of shit. Hunting, fighting, pulling sleds, you name it."

"Huh." Garrus glanced at his omni-tool. "Okay, the extranet is telling me there are such things as 'dog people' and 'cat people.' What the hell does that mean?"

"Cats are another kind of pet," Shepard said.

"Some people like dogs better, some people like cats better. You ask me, cats are _loco_. Always staring at you."

Garrus grinned. "So I guess you're a dog person, James?"

"That's right." James settled back in his armchair.

"So what are cats good for?"

"They catch mice," Shepard put in. "Or other kinds of vermin."

"Yeah," said James. "My _abuela_ had a cat. Meanest little cuss you ever saw. Killed cockroaches like a master."

"But the point of pets isn't to be, to be useful," said Shepard. The thought seemed very important, but she was having trouble finding the right words for it. "They're more like com- compan- pals. Warm and furry and cuddly." She leaned over to scratch Rusty's ears, bumping into Garrus in the process. "They keep us company. Our furry, furry friends." She pulled herself back up to a sitting position and propped herself up on Garrus's shoulder.

James snorted, and Garrus looked at her oddly. His arm tensed slightly. Shepard ignored it and leaned her cheek against him. "You're warm, too," she informed him.

"Uh, thanks, Shepard. I do my best to maintain a consistent body temperature," Garrus said.

"You're very good at it," Shepard said, closing her eyes. "Oh, except on Noveria. You bitched constantly on Noveria."

"Sixteen years and you haven't forgotten that," Garrus grumbled under his breath.

James chuckled. "Lola, I think you might have had enough."

"I am not drunk," Shepard announced, her eyes flying open. "I haven't been drunk in _years_."

"Yeah, that might explain it," said James. Garrus laughed.

Blinking, Shepard took in the detritus of bottles on the table in front of her. There were more beer bottles than she'd thought. "I am a _marine_," she said. "I'm not going to get shitfaced from a couple of beers and a glass of wine and... what else did I have?"

"Right," said Garrus, shifting his arm until Shepard reluctantly moved away. She missed the warmth of him already and sighed to herself. He slowly rose to his feet and stretched. "I think I'm at my limit. I'd better get home before it gets any later."

"Aw," Shepard protested. "You could stay!"

"You already promised James the guest room, Shepard, and I'd rather sleep in my own bed than on the couch."

James laughed. "What, you getting old?"

Garrus snorted. "Yeah, actually. Respect your elders, Jimmy."

"In your dreams, Scars."

Shepard frowned at the assortment of bottles as Garrus departed from the room and returned with Lexa, still asleep, in his arms. "Good to see you, James. Good night, Shepard."

She bounced off the couch to intercept him as he headed toward the door. "I should see you out," she blurted, reaching for the door controls.

"I appreciate that, since I have my hands full."

"You do." Shepard smiled at him over Lexa's sleeping form, and on impulse, rose up on her toes and planted a kiss on his scarred mandible. "Good night, Garrus."

Garrus stared at her, blue eyes unreadable, then blinked and shook his head. "Good night."

Shepard closed the door behind them and turned to scowl at the mess in her living room. "Morning," she muttered. "I'll clean it in the morning."

"Good night, Lola," James called, heading toward the guest room.

#

She woke with a splitting headache and a hazier memory than she liked. She found herself aspirin in the bathroom and wandered out in search of food to find James already in the kitchen, cooking. "Lola! You're just in time for the _huevos_."

"Fabulous," she groaned, plopping herself in a chair, hoping her headache would fade. "I don't think I have the tolerance I used to."

"You don't say." He presented her with a plate of eggs and a fork. Shepard dived in, gratefully. She was even more grateful David wasn't up yet to ask questions and talk too loudly.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Shepard would freely admit it: the eggs were good. Damned good, even. James didn't have a huge culinary repertoire, but what he cooked, he knew how to do well.

"Something going on with you and Scars?" James asked.

"What?" Shepard looked up in surprise, then winced as the end of the previous evening suddenly came into relief in her memory. Her cheeks grew hot. "Ohhhh. No."

"You sure about that? 'Cause you were lookin' a little more than friendly there. Not sure a turian is what I'd pick to cuddle up on."

Shepard shook her head, even as a traitorous little part of her remembered very well what it felt like to curl herself against a warm turian body. "No, no. I'd just had a little too much, that's all."

"Yeah." After a moment, James added, "Don't get me wrong, you could sure as hell do worse. Scars is a good guy and all, I was just surprised."

She swallowed a mouthful of eggs. "No, it's... not like that at all. We're old friends, you know that, but that's all." It _had_ been more than that, once, but if James didn't know that, she wasn't about to tell him.

"Okay, Lola. Whatever you say."

Shepard shot him a suspicious look. James looked for a moment as if he were about to say something else, but stopped himself. She might have pushed the point further, but a moment later David shuffled into the kitchen, tousled and yawning, and she let it go.


	6. Chapter 6

Shepard still didn't shy away from a challenge, and a challenge had been made. If Garrus could make lasagna, Shepard was going to have to cook something turians could eat.

The extranet was surprisingly unhelpful, however, full of contradictory information about everything from ingredients to techniques. After a fruitless couple of hours trying to sort something out, Shepard frowned and checked the time difference from the quarian capital on Rannoch. It wasn't too late in the evening there, so she gave Tali a call.

"Shepard!" Tali brightened as she sat down at the console. Shepard had never quite gotten used to seeing Tali without her familiar faceplate; the eyes were familiar, faintly luminous, but it always made her blink to see Tali smiling at her. "How are you? How's David? What do you need?"

"I'm fine, he's fine, and who says I need anything?"

Tali tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. "You don't need to make a vidcall just to catch up. Not that I'd mind!"

"Yeah, okay," Shepard admitted, "I was hoping you could give me some pointers on cooking dextro cuisine."

"Sure thing. You're having dextro guests?"

"Yeah, Garrus and Lexa are coming over for dinner."

"Oh." As far as Shepard could tell, Tali had never quite gotten the hang of restraining her expression, either. Now, her mouth fell into a straight line and she looked down. A lock of her dark hair fell forward over her shoulder, and she raised one hand to stroke it between her fingers. "Garrus? Really? I thought you two weren't speaking."

Shepard blinked. She had a reflexive urge to say it wasn't like that. There had never been a quarrel or a falling-out or any kind of grand proclamation like: _I'm not speaking to you_. They'd simply... not spoken to each other. In quite a while. Instead of getting into all that, she said, "He moved to the Citadel a couple months ago. For work."

"I suppose that explains why he hasn't been in touch, he must have been busy," said Tali. She brushed her hair back over her shoulder, her hand falling to her lap. "How are they doing?" she asked, her voice softer.

"Okay, I think. Lexa goes to the same school as David, and she seems to be settling in okay. They've been playing together a lot."

"That's good." Tali seemed to brighten a bit, her face relaxing. "So, the kids are friends, and you're just having a friendly dinner, then."

"Well, yeah," Shepard frowned, aware that her heart was beating more rapidly. "Why, what did you think..." She trailed off, not sure what to ask.

"Oh, I..." By the slight shift of Tali's shoulders, Shepard could tell that she was twisting her hands together in her lap, even though she couldn't see them. "It's none of my business. What kind of dinner were you—"

"No," Shepard interrupted. She had a sense of pushing into dangerous territory, but after her conversation with James, she didn't want to just let it go. "What do you mean? Did you think we were..."

Tali bit her lip, an odd sight since her teeth were shaped differently from a human's. "It's nothing, really. I was just worried you two were dating again."

Shepard winced, searching back through her memories. As best she could recall, she and Garrus had never kept their brief relationship private. "Again? How did you know?"

Tali blinked at her several times rapidly. "Because I was on the Collector mission and I have eyes?"

"Oh, God." Shepard groaned, dropping her head into her hand. "I thought we weren't that obvious."

Tali shrugged. "I knew both of you better than most of the crew."

"Yeah, I guess so. Wait." Shepard frowned. "What did you mean, you were _worried_ we were dating again?"

"Keelah." Tali bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Shepard, I shouldn't have said anything. Let's just pretend I didn't, okay?"

"But you did," Shepard said, her heart pounding. "What did you mean? Did... Garrus ever say anything to you?" It was impossible to imagine him criticizing her behind her back, but... what did Tali _mean_?

"No, of course not. He wouldn't do that. I—" Tali twined her fingers together. "It's none of my business, really."

"_Tali_." It was a Commander voice, she knew. Or maybe a Mom voice.

Either way, Tali flinched. "Look, I don't know what happened between you two... but whatever it was, it wasn't very good for him."

That hurt, felt like a fist right in her solar plexus. Shepard stared through the viewer, while Tali fidgeted, and finally shut her mouth with a click. She was shocked to hear her voice coming out steady when she repeated, "What do you mean?"

Tali sighed. "Okay, this is what I saw. After the Collector mission, before I went back to the Flotilla, you both seemed fine. Happy, even. I could tell there was something going on, and I was happy for you. And then when I joined the crew again, you were back with Kaidan, and Garrus was really having a hard time. I'd talk with him, in the lounge, over drinks, and he'd never say anything against you, but I could tell he was hurting. I mean, his mother had just died, his father and sister were missing, and he was just throwing himself into work to try to stop thinking about it all. I know he put up a front for most of the crew, but he didn't for me, and as far as I could tell you never even noticed."

"I did talk to him... or I tried to..." The words felt heavy as they fell from Shepard's lips. It felt as though there was a hard knot in her chest, and something prickled dangerously behind her eyelids. "So what you're saying is that you think _I_ wasn't good for him."

"Damn it, I knew I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry, Shepard." Tali wrung her hands. "I'm overstepping, it's none of my business, and it was a long time ago, I'm sorry. I've probably got it all wrong."

Shepard took a deep breath, trying to remember. Had she been avoiding Garrus after she and Kaidan rekindled things? Had it ever seemed like he was struggling? She'd known he was worried about his family, but... he'd brushed her off when she tried to talk to him about it, hadn't he? She'd had so many problems to deal with herself, the whole goddamn war effort, whatever random missions Hackett saw fit to fob off on her, how could Tali judge her? She heard her voice come out more bitter than she intended. "Well, I guess you were there for him, weren't you? Helped pick up the pieces." She had tried to be happy for Garrus and Tali when they got together... and she had been, a little bit... but she'd been surprised. Sure, they'd been through a lot together, but she wouldn't ever have thought the two of them had a romantic kind of connection.

And, okay, she'd been just the tiniest bit jealous. Not that she had any claims on him, when she was the one who'd broken things off, but... it apparently hadn't taken long for him to move on, had it? And that had stung, more than she would have liked.

"That's the thing, I'm not sure I did. I mean, we talked, yeah, and we were lovers for a little while, but..." Tali shook her head. "I think we both knew it wasn't going to last. It was such a desperate time, and... I think we were both surprised when we were still standing afterward. We talked about things after London, and we both had commitments to our own people, so... we went our separate ways. The next time I saw him he'd met Melia, and he seemed so much happier."

Shepard abruptly felt ashamed of herself. She remembered looking at those pics at Garrus's apartment, and the bleak look he got whenever his late wife came up in conversation, and... that expression wasn't entirely unfamiliar, was it? She'd seen something like it on his face before. Tali was right, he'd been troubled back during the war, and Shepard hadn't done a lot to help him. She'd had her own burdens, but that didn't change the fact that she hadn't been the best of friends to him. No, she'd just taken the support she needed from him, that was all, and then let him go. Some friend she was.

It felt like the silence was dragging on too long. She said, "I wish I could have met her. Melia." But she could have, couldn't she? She could have gone to Palaven any time, radiation or not. She could have at least written. She could have checked in and found out how he was doing after he left Earth, and she hadn't, because...

Because she'd been wrapped up in her life with Kaidan, eventually in getting married and trying to get pregnant and raising her son. Because Kaidan didn't really mind, did he, if she let her ex-boyfriend drift out of her life? Because it wasn't so easy for _her_ to step back to simple friendship as she'd hoped it would be, and she was afraid to ask Garrus what he thought about it, after he'd quietly accepted her declaration that they should just be friends. She had no good reasons at all, really. It wasn't as if she'd never had an hour of free time in all those years. And the few times she had written, her notes had been bright and superficial, and... God, she'd gone on and on about Kaidan and his work, hadn't she?

Tali was talking again, and Shepard tried to pull herself out of her self-loathing. "I liked Melia. I liked her a lot," Tali said. "They seemed really happy together." She clasped her hands together, her brow puckering. "I'm sorry, Shepard, I shouldn't have brought any of this up."

"It's okay." Shepard rubbed her forehead. The knot in her chest had loosened, but there was definitely a headache building up in her temples. "But it's not... look, maybe I screwed up back then, but it was a long time ago, and we're just... reconnecting. Like you said, it's just a friendly dinner. It's good to get that old friendship back." She spoke firmly, pushing down the complex wad of uncertainty and self-recriminations and other things.

"Well... that's good. I mean..." Tali blinked, squeezing her hands together. "I care about both of you Shepard, and I don't want either of you to get hurt. So just... be careful?"

"I hear you," said Shepard. She did, loud and clear. _Be careful_. Garrus needed a friend. He was still grieving, after all, that was as plain as anything, and there were the kids to think of... hell, both of them could use a solid friend. She was glad they were getting that back.

She cleared her throat. "So, about the dinner menu."

Tali nodded, looking grateful for the change in subject. "What did you have in mind?"


	7. Chapter 7

Garrus tapped on the closed door of Lexa's room. "Lex, it's time to go."

"No! I don't want to!"

Garrus sighed. Visits with Shepard and David had become a regular end-of-the-week event. Usually Lexa was happy to go, eager to play with her friend or the puppy. Tonight she'd been holed up in her room since she got home from school. "We'll be late if we don't leave now," he said, checking the time. Shepard had hinted at a surprise, and he didn't want to be late.

"I don't want to go." There was a sharp, suppressed noise from the other side of the closed door. Garrus frowned, registering the angry tones of her subvocals.

"Open the door, Lex." Only mutinous silence followed. "Lex," he repeated, more sternly.

The door flew open, and his daughter glared up at him. "Right, now we can have a reasonable discussion—" he began, but she interrupted.

"I don't. Want. To go. Anywhere. We'd have to take a... a car..." She swallowed, and he could see her mandibles quivering. "... and I don't want to do that _today_." She gave him a hard stare, but her mandibles were quivering. "I can't believe you _forgot._" She shut the door—not quite a slam, but a little more force than necessary. There was a _thump_—probably Lexa throwing herself onto her bed—and then the return of that suppressed keening.

Fuck. He hadn't forgotten. He'd just... been trying very hard not to think about it. Easier since the Citadel operated on the asari calendar rather than the turian. Easier to pretend that it wasn't exactly one year since he'd gotten pulled out of a vidcomm meeting with the colonial primarchs.

_There's been an accident_.

His own father would never have brooked a display of defiance like Lexa's. Door-slamming, defiance of a parent: these were serious faults, meriting discipline. Or maybe Dad would have, under the right circumstances. Garrus hadn't lost his mother until he was an adult, after all.

He leaned his head against the door. "Lex. I didn't forget."

There was a brief, waiting silence. Garrus tried another tack. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather do something fun? Take your mind off things?"

"Just leave me _alone_, Dad!"

He winced. Maybe he ought to insist she open the door and take part in the despised activity.

Maybe he ought to open the door himself and hold her until she calmed down.

Maybe he should simply do as she asked.

"All right. I'll be... I'll be right out here."

He headed back toward the living room and called Shepard. She sounded slightly out of breath. "Garrus? What's up?"

"I hate to do this when you said you had something planned, but we won't make it tonight."

"Why not?" Her voice sharpened. "Is something wrong?"

He tensed as Lexa's keening got louder. "Is that Lexa?" Shepard asked, sounding startled.

"Yeah." He forced himself to walk away from the door and sat on the couch. "She's... upset. It's been a year since the accident, and..." He trailed off, having no good idea how to finish that sentence.

"Oh," said Shepard. He almost cut the call in the quiet moment that followed, but before he could, she said, "Do you need anything?"

"I... No. I guess not. I don't know."

"Call back if you think of something," she said firmly.

"Okay. Thanks."

Garrus ended the call. Lexa was still crying. He couldn't just sit there while she sounded like that. He stood up and went back to her door.

"Lex? Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Can I come in?"

"_No. _I said just _leave me alone_._"_

Great. Well, he was hungry. Sort of. He had no real appetite, just an awareness that he hadn't eaten in hours. He stalked back to the kitchen, reheated a frozen meal, and ate it without tasting it. That chore accomplished, he paced through the length of the apartment, wondering if he should go in anyway. He tried to talk to Lexa once more before the outer door chimed, with as little result.

It was Shepard. With the dog. It whined and pawed at his leg while Garrus stared at it blankly.

"Down, Rusty. I got over here as fast as I could," said Shepard, a little breathless.

"What?" he said, feeling stupid.

"She really likes the dog. I thought it might help." She frowned at him, as if he should understand. "Can I come in?"

He stepped back and waved toward Lexa's bedroom. "Go ahead. She doesn't want to talk to me, apparently."

Shepard patted his arm as she passed. Garrus watched her knock on the door. After a moment, it opened a crack and the puppy bounded in, barking. Shepard followed.

Feeling utterly useless, he returned to the living room and sat heavily on the couch.

A few minutes later, Shepard reappeared. She stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip. "Where do you keep the booze around here, Garrus?"

"Cabinet in the kitchen. I think she's a little young for that, though." He didn't watch as she went into the kitchen.

"Not for her. For you." She returned and set a glass of brandy in front of him. "You look like you need it."

"It didn't take me long to figure out that getting drunk didn't help. It just added a hangover to the problem."

"I don't think one glass is going to get you drunk."

She was probably right, he reflected. He picked up the glass.

Shepard didn't say anything while he finished. And at least Lexa had stopped keening, not that he'd had anything to do with it. The quiet should have been soothing, but instead it grated on his nerves. "Well. It's good to know I can be replaced by a hairy, four-legged drool machine."

"Hey." Shepard touched his arm. "It's not like that. The pet is warm and cuddly and comforting. You can tell it anything and it just listens, without judging or expecting anything."

He wanted to snarl in frustration. Instead, he yanked his arm away, snapping, "What kind of parent do you think I am, exactly?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, it's just... the animal is simpler, that's all."

Garrus closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. Shepard said nothing. He half wished she'd say or do _something_, as a distraction. He was straining to hear the slightest noise from the bedroom, any sign of Lexa's mood, but the silence from that direction continued. Eventually he found himself saying, "Sometimes I wonder if she'd be better off if our positions had been reversed. If I'd been driving and Mely had survived."

"Garrus—"

"I just don't know, Shepard. I'm trying as hard as I can, but I just don't know if I'm doing the right thing for her. When Mely was alive, it seemed like we could always figure things out between the two of us, but now... I can't afford to fuck this up. Not this."

Her hand was on his arm again, and his time he let it stay, the pressure against his wrist vaguely comforting. "Don't do this to yourself. Look, I don't know if turians raise children differently from humans, but as far as I can tell, she's healthy, she's well-behaved, and she's doing well in school. She's smart and kind and she's a _good kid_, Garrus, so you're doing something right. And as for the other thing—" Shepard's voice wavered a little "—she _loves _you. It doesn't take much observation of the two of you together to tell that she _adores_ you. If her mom were alive instead, she wouldn't be grieving less, she'd only be grieving differently. You're not fucking anything up. She's sad and angry right now and she's taking it out on you, that's all. She _can _take it out on you, because she trusts you _completely_ and she knows that you'll never let her down."

He wanted to believe her, even if he couldn't feel any of it just then. "Pretty smart, Shepard," he managed.

She snorted. "Believe me, I've been here. David used to have the worst tantrums. Screaming, crying fits. Things got better. They'll get better for you and her, too."

"She was mad because she thought I'd forgotten what day it was. I hadn't, I'd just..."

"I know what you mean," she said quietly.

He leaned back on the couch, letting his head fall against the padded back, remembering. "I got called out of a meeting and raced down to the hospital as fast as I could, but... Mely was already gone." He cleared his throat, trying to control his own discordant vocals. He _couldn't_ remember the details of the last conversation he'd had with Mely. Something totally banal, probably, something about the week's schedule and wishing each other a good day. If he'd known it was going to be the last conversation... he pulled himself back from the thought, saying, "Lexa was banged up and dazed. She grabbed on when I came into her room and she just held on so tight. She'd hardly let me out of her sight for a week." That was certainly a change from now, he thought bitterly.

Shepard's grip on his arm tightened. She said, "I didn't hear about Kaidan for two days. Security issues. There are these romantic stories in human culture, where if you truly love someone, you know if they're in trouble or if something happened to them, but I didn't. I was a little worried, sure, but not more than for any other mission." Her shoulders rose and fell. "Romantic nonsense, I guess."

He hummed in assent. "I think asari can sometimes do that for real. Or maybe those are just stories, too."

Shepard nodded. Her hand moved up and down his arm, absently stroking. "Do you want to talk about her? You don't have to, but... if you want to, I'll listen."

His breath came out in a creaky kind of sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. "I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning?" she suggested.

He snorted. "The beginning. Okay. I met her at this ceremony. You probably know the type, a memorial for the fallen plus medals for those still standing."

"Yup, we do them, too. Boring as hell."

"Right. So I was behaving myself for once, and I heard someone near me making sly little remarks about the honored and venerable speakers. I looked around and figured out who it was because most of the other people near us were giving her dirty looks and edging away."

"Smart mouth, huh? Sounds like just your type."

Garrus managed more of a real laugh this time. "Yeah. So she got called up for her award—she was getting an Azure Star, they give it to field medics who go beyond the call for their patients. And she accepted it, proper and polite as anything, and came back and started in with the digs again. Then I got called up—I was getting a Shield of Palaven, for, well, everything. They gave this long speech about all of my supposed accomplishments, half of which were things you'd done—"

"You were there, too. Take the credit you're due."

"Eh." He waved it off with his free hand. "So, long speech, I was standing up on the platform wearing the thing. It's this huge, ostentatious piece of metal, almost as big as a dinner plate, and shiny enough you could see your face in it, and I had to stand there wearing it while they talked about me. I looked out over the audience, and I swear she _winked_ at me. And then the speech was over and I went back to my place and she gave me a look and said, 'Nice shield. Think you could deflect a Reaper weapon with that?' I almost started laughing right there, and the ceremony was only half over. So I asked if she wanted to go out and get a drink afterward, instead."

"I'm guessing she said yes."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "I don't know, Shepard. She was smart and funny, and she put up with me for years, spirits only know why, and when she was alive, everything seemed _easy_. And now... I miss her so much, Shepard." He was shaking, now, with the effort of keeping his voice steady enough to be intelligible. Shepard's arm crept around his back, warm and firm and solid.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm going to spare you all the stupid bullshit people said to me when Kaidan died. I'm so, so sorry. I _can_ tell you it hurt when he died, so much. And it did get better. Eventually. I'll listen any time you want to talk." She was quiet, for a time, while he got himself back under control. Her silent, steady presence was unexpectedly comforting, and comfortable. Eventually, she said, "You know, you're not that hard to put up with."

"Hm?" he said, momentarily puzzled.

"I always thought you were easy to get along with."

He tried to make sense of that remark. It was tempting to read in a little too much. He and Shepard had never really cohabited, though. Sharing close quarters on a frigate wasn't quite the same thing. That was probably all she meant.

"Um, ma'am?" They both looked up to see Lexa in the doorway, clutching the puppy's leash.

"Hey, Lexa, what is it?" Shepard asked.

"I think Rusty needs to go out."

Shepard got up, patting Garrus on the shoulder. "I'll take care of it," she said, taking the leash and drawing the puppy with her toward the door.

Garrus tried for a smile. "How are you doing, kiddo?"

"I think I feel better." She came halfway across the room before stopping, scuffing her toes against the rug. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Relief loosened his muscles for the first time since she'd shut herself in the room. "It's okay, sweetheart. Come here?"

She finished crossing, eagerly, and all but burrowed into him, arms around his chest, head tucked against his cowl. He held her tight, remembering how she'd clung to both of them when she was small, remembering how hard she'd held on for that first week after the accident. He sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have remembered better, and asked what you wanted to do. Do you want to make a memorial tomorrow? I think there's a memorial flame in the park not far from here."

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "That sounds nice. Can we bring Rusty?"

He sighed again. "Yes. As long as it's okay with Shepard."


	8. Chapter 8

Turian memorials didn't look that different from human ones, Shepard reflected.

There had been a lot of memorials, during the war, and after. Over the years, the ragged memorials that had sprung up in the first weeks of the war, cobbled together out of rubble and scraps, had turned into more durable structures of stone or wood or concrete. Sometimes Shepard missed the old ones, with their tattered pictures of those lost and little piles of personal possessions.

The memorial wall at the park was typically turian in style, with strong, austere lines. It was covered with names. Turian residents of the Citadel who'd died during the war, Garrus had told her, from C-Sec officers to shopkeepers; people who'd fought the coup, people who hadn't been able to evacuate. All kinds of people. There was an open flame in front of the wall. It was a good park for dog-walking, lots of open space, and on previous trips Shepard had occasionally seen people next to the fire, sometimes feeding something into the flames.

Lexa had drawn a picture, on real paper, of her parents and herself. She'd shown it to Shepard and David earlier, holding it high enough so Rusty couldn't snatch it out of her hand. It was a little rough but more than Shepard would have expected from a nine-year-old, certainly better than David's typical work. Now she stood by the pyre and carefully placed the sketch in the flames.

Shepard stood back a bit, holding David's hand as well as the puppy's leash, so she couldn't hear what Lexa and Garrus were saying to each other, but she could see when Lexa finally turned from the fire and Garrus leaned down for a hug. The sight made her throat tight. She had breathed a small sigh of relief, the night before, when she'd come in from walking the dog and found the two of them sitting on the couch, talking quietly, Lexa in her father's lap. Lexa seemed like a cheerful and level-headed child, most of the time, and to see her that upset, burying her face in her pillows, made Shepard's heart hurt. It was even worse to see Garrus so anguished. She could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she'd seen him lose control of his emotions, and she'd still have fingers left over. What had really stung her was to hear him doubt himself so deeply. She knew it could be difficult to raise a child alone; she'd definitely had her share of struggles since Kaidan's death, but she'd never wished to trade places with her deceased spouse. When she imagined the scenario Garrus had mentioned, imagined recognizing Lexa's eyes, only to meet her widowed mother instead, it made something twist inside her.

The two turians turned away from the memorial wall and walked down the steps to rejoin Shepard and David. Rusty bounded toward them, bouncing up and down frantically at the end of the leash and launching himself at Lexa once she came within range. Garrus heaved a sigh, but looked at how the girl was giggling as the puppy licked her face, and said nothing. David tugged at Shepard's arm. "Can we play now?" he asked, in a half whisper.

"Sure," she said, smiling, and handed him the leash.

Lexa had asked, shyly, if she could borrow the puppy for a while. Shepard had been the one to suggest, with some hesitation, that she and David could come along, and they could make a day of it. It was a big park, usually with a lot of people, and a fenced-off area where pets could be let off the leash. As they walked in that direction, along a path that meandered through gently rolling hills, the children and the dog ran ahead, and the adults walked behind. They passed a hanar playing an instrument like a marimba, a mallet in each of its handling tentacles. Off in the distance, Shepard could see brightly colored kites flying, sailing in the breeze of the Citadel's eternally perfect days.

She said, "Can I ask—what's the purpose of the ritual?"

"It's... an offering, of sorts. It's hard to explain. Turians think of spirits as collective, rather than individual—the spirit of a family or a team or a community, so it's not about the spirit of the departed, exactly." He paused for a moment before adding, "As with most such things, the ritual is really for the living. It's about focusing the mind and then letting go. Or trying to."

Shepard nodded. Cautiously, she asked, "Have you done it?"

"Yes," he said, short and brusque. She stole a sideways glance and found him looking straight ahead. "For my mother, once. For Mely, before we left Palaven." He hesitated, looking back at her. "For you, once."

She looked away. Inside her pockets, her fingers curled into her palms. She focused on the kites bobbing in the distance, bright and cheerful and entirely unlike struggling for breath in the void. She said, "I don't remember anything."

"What?"

"You know. Before... before I woke up on Lazarus Station. I don't remember anything. If I was... somewhere else, I wasn't aware of it."

Garrus said nothing, but she felt the light touch of his hand on her arm. It anchored her in the here and now, pulling her away from the oblivion she'd rather not contemplate. She turned back to him and found him looking back at her, blue eyes serious but somehow warm. She'd meant to give him a little smile, the reassuring kind, even though she knew it would be shaky, but it was a real smile that spread across her face.

When they reached the pet enclosure, Shepard unclipped the leash from Rusty's collar and watched him race away, the two children running after him. There were a couple of other humans out with dogs, and a few varren, and, on the far side of the enclosure, an asari with an animal she didn't recognize. David had brought balls and a frisbee for Rusty to chase. Lexa proved almost as fascinated with the frisbee as with the dog. Shepard had to demonstrate, showing her the flick of the wrist it took to throw the disc properly. Lexa had to adjust her grip, but she picked up the knack quickly, her first fumbling attempts soon growing more successful at sending the disc soaring. Shepard's bad hip was actually being cooperative today, and it felt incredibly good just to _move_, running a few steps, catching the frisbee, throwing it back toward the dog or one of the kids. She let herself run a little further as her body loosened up, laughing at Rusty's wild leaps after the toy.

David called, "Can you catch this, Mom?" and hurled the disc long and high. Shepard ran after it, turning her head to keep her eyes on the trajectory of the frisbee, until she went crashing into something solid.

"Oof. Ow," she gasped, wincing as her shoulder protested the collision.

"Ow. Easy there, Shepard."

She realized with a sudden lurch that she'd run into Garrus, nearly knocking them both over, and he was now bracing her upright, arms around her. Her face immediately grew warm. "I, uh—" She twisted, trying to regain her footing, and found herself looking into his face, as he regarded her with concern. Her heart pounded.

"Shepard? Are you all right? I'm sorry, I was looking the other way."

They were only inches apart; she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. She swallowed. "No, it was my fault, I should have been watching where I was going. I... I'm fine." Her voice was coming out breathier than she meant. "You?"

"No harm done," he said. His hands flexed gently on her shoulders, a gentle squeeze. Warm. She felt it the most there, but she was standing close enough to him that the heat of his body seemed to be all around her, and she couldn't look away from his eyes. She parted her lips, not sure what she meant to say—

"Mom?"

Shepard blinked and turned her head to the side. David came up, clutching the frisbee in one hand. Lexa trailed after him, with Rusty bounding along beside her. "Are you okay?" David asked.

Right. The children. The dog. A day at the park.

"Yes," she said, stepping back, missing the warmth as soon as she did. Garrus hesitated for a moment before dropping his hands to his sides. She turned away, rolling her shoulder carefully, trying to compose herself. She was lucky he didn't wear the visor any more. If he had it on, he could hardly have _not_ noticed the way her pulse was up.

"You used to have better situational awareness, Shepard," Garrus commented. Was it just her imagination, or did his light tone sound a little forced?

"So did you," she retorted. "You didn't see me coming?"

He shrugged. "No motion detector. I was looking that way. Funny how I didn't anticipate a human missile in my way." He offered her a grin.

"Seems to me you were in my way." She stretched, carefully, testing her body. Her joints twinged a bit from the impact, but nothing was hurting too much.

"I'm sorry, Mom," said David, looking contrite.

"It wasn't your fault, honey, I should have been paying more attention." She smiled and ruffled his hair. "But how about some lunch?"

Rusty submitted to having his leash clipped back onto his collar. He even walked more or less decorously alongside David. Shepard limped a little, but it gradually eased as they walked across the park. She eyed Garrus, walking along beside Lexa with an easy stride, with a certain amount of envy. He'd been lucky to come out of the war with no lasting injuries.

In fact, he looked just as good as he had twelve or thirteen years earlier, and that brought certain memories rushing back.

Hell. James had been right. There _was_ something going on, and she'd been deluded to think there wasn't. It had been creeping up on her, the last few weeks, the awakening of feelings that she'd thought long gone, or at least well buried. She still cared for him—well, of course she cared for him. They'd been friends and comrades and each other's lifelines long before they'd been lovers. But what she felt now was... something beyond friendship.

Shepard frowned at herself. Tali was right, too: she needed to be careful. She had no real hints that he felt anything similar, certainly no signs of attraction on his part. She'd been the one to break things off, but he hadn't objected; maybe his feelings hadn't run that deep. She looked at him walking ahead of her and frowned some more, drawing her shoulders together. He might not even find her attractive any more. She wasn't a marine commander any more, and the war and pregnancy had both left their marks. She'd lost muscle tone and put on a little weight over the years. She was over forty now, after all, and no longer in fighting trim.

And... it was only a year since his wife had died. Shepard had seen how raw his grief still was the night before. Whatever there had been between them before, he wasn't over Melia's death, by any means. Surely what he needed now was a friend, not someone putting pressure on him for something more. For all she knew, turians mated for life or something, anyway.

The only way to know for sure if he might want anything more was to ask him. And that seemed... too soon, too pushy. Too soon for _her_, even, to expose feelings she wasn't sure of yet. She needed to hold on to her new realization, mull things over a little.

Certainly now, a day off at the park, kids and puppy in tow, was not the time or the place for that kind of conversation.

They found a couple of carts selling takeaway food near the area where people were flying kites. Shepard bought sandwiches for her and David; Garrus bought something for him and Lexa at a nearby stand run by a quarian. "Can we go look at the kites?" David asked.

Lexa bounced. "I want to see, too!"

Shepard exchanged glances with Garrus. "I don't see why not," she said.

As they approached, lunch in hand, Shepard noticed that the kite-flyers included turians as well as humans. "Huh, look at that. I didn't know turians did kites, too."

Garrus gave an exaggerated sigh. "You humans think you invented everything. Of course we have kites, too."

They settled down on the grass to watch. Shepard let Rusty eat the crumbs that fell from her sandwich, keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn't snag the turians' leftovers as well. She wasn't sure the dog was smart enough to avoid dextro-amino food on his own. Lexa finished her lunch and wiped her fingers on the grass. "Dad, look. They're selling kites right over there. Can we get one?"

"Sure," said Garrus.

David looked pleadingly at Shepard. "Mom?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, you can get one, too."

The proprietor of the stall was a human man who looked Chinese. He had a wide array of kites of different shapes, sizes, and colors, and steered the kids toward kites small enough that they could probably manage them themselves. David picked out a kite with an abstract design in bold red and black, but Lexa fussed over the choices for much longer. "Can I get this one?" she finally asked.

"Oh my God," said Shepard, not sure whether to laugh or scream. It was a Reaper kite, realistically painted, right down to the glowing red 'eye' of the weapons port.

Garrus looked like he wasn't sure how to react, either. "Ah... really, Lex?"

Her mandibles pulled into a stubborn look. "Please?"

"Fine," he sighed, passing her the credit chit, and she ran off to make her purchase.

"I can't believe they're making toys like that," Shepard said, and found that her voice was shaking.

Garrus slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Haven't you seen that new game, Galaxy At War? It's all about shooting husks."

"Yeah, but—" she shook her head. "It's not the same. At least with stuff like that, you're fighting them, it's not..." She looked at Lexa unwinding her kite string and making a running start to let the thing fly. "... cute."

"The war's always going to be just a story to them," he said.

She nodded, a little distracted by the feel of his arm around her, heavy and warm. It would be easy, very easy, to slip her own arm around his waist in return. She resisted the urge; the gesture seemed too shameless for the moment. "I suppose that's what we were fighting for, but... doesn't it feel strange?"

"It does."

She took some measure of comfort from the fact that he agreed with her. Then David called her for help with his kite, and she pulled away from Garrus with a tiny sigh.


	9. Chapter 9

"Feeling any better?" Garrus asked Lexa once they'd gotten home from the park.

She stopped for a moment, her head bent, still carrying her kite with its black streamers. He waited, not sure whether to be glad she was taking the question seriously, or concerned. "I think so," she said finally. "I mean... I still miss Mom."

"No one expects that you'll just stop missing her, sweetheart." Garrus touched the top of her head lightly. "I still miss my mother, and she died before you were born."

"Oh." Lexa nodded. "Do you... do you miss Mom, too?"

"Of course I do," he said, surprised she would even ask. "All the time." He scooped her up, even though she wriggled, and sat down on the nearest corner of the couch with her on his lap. "I loved your mom very much," he told her, letting her hear all the feeling he usually kept under control. "I thought we'd be together for a long, long time. I still wish she was here, and I'm sorry she didn't get to see how you're growing up. Listen, Lex, I'm sorry we didn't talk about the anniversary before it happened."

Her shoulders twitched. "It's okay," she said, not convincingly. Her voice wavered.

"It's not," he said firmly. "I understand why you were upset. The truth is, it was just... hard for me, too."

She thought about that, swinging her feet in the air. "Maybe you should have made a memorial, too."

"Maybe you're right. I did before we left Palaven, but maybe I should do it again." He'd done it privately, a tiny pyre in the back garden of the house they'd lived in since before Lexa was born.

"I liked doing it here." After a second, she added, "It was nice to have David and his mom there."

"Yeah, it was." Garrus settled into the couch, thinking back over the day. He hadn't been sure what to expect when Shepard suggested coming along, but it had been far less awkward than he'd expected to have a human audience for Lexa's little memorial.

No, the awkwardness had come later. For half the afternoon, whenever he turned around, he'd found her looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Maybe he was out of practice with human faces, but he couldn't make out what she was thinking. And twice it had seemed as though she was going to say something before she stopped herself with a shake of her head. There seemed to be something on her mind, but he wasn't at all sure what it was. Maybe that damned kite had bothered her more than he'd realized, but that still didn't explain why she kept looking at him that way. He shook his head. All in all, the whole day had been remarkably _pleasant_; when he thought back on how little time it had been since he and Lexa had come to live here, he was surprised at how easy it was for the four of them to spend time together. Lexa and David were very comfortable with each other, and he and Shepard...

... well. It wasn't quite like old times, after all. Shepard had certainly changed, though Garrus couldn't have said precisely how. Civilian life definitely agreed with her in many ways; she seemed calmer and happier and more relaxed than he remembered her being in the old days.

"Sometimes I miss Palaven, too," Lexa said, drawing his attention back to her.

"Do you? What do you think of living on the Citadel?"

She tipped her head sideways. "I like school and all the different kids there. It's funny not having a real sun, though. Or wind. It just feels funny."

Garrus nodded. "I thought the same when I first lived here."

"When you were in C-Sec?"

"That's right. I visited your grandfather here sometimes, when I was your age, but I didn't really live here until I started at C-Sec."

Lexa considered. "Well, but you were so old then, it didn't bother you, right?"

Garrus had to choke down a laugh. Legal adult he might have been, several years into his term of service, but when he looked back on his early years at C-Sec, they seemed very far away and he seemed very young. Damn, he'd thought back then that he had had everything figured out, and really, he'd had no idea about anything. "It was just something I had to get used to."

"Maybe I'll join C-Sec, too."

Garrus smiled down at the top of her head. "I'm sure your grandfather would be thrilled. But there will be a lot of things you can do when you're older."

Lexa squirmed, and Garrus released her, letting her slide out of his lap. "Can we call grandfather tonight? Or Aunt Sol? We haven't talked to them in a while."

"Sure. Just let me check my messages and see if there's anything urgent."

She skipped off to put her kite away while Garrus checked his secured console. A couple of reports that he could put off reading until tomorrow, and one request from a colleague to call him back. He punched in the code and after a few moments had the other man's face on his screen. "Detrus. I got your message. Need something?"

The younger turian nodded. "Vakarian, yeah. It's, uh... it's actually in the nature of a personal favor."

Garrus gave him a skeptical look. "It's not about work?"

"No. Sorry." He didn't look particularly sorry, somehow, but Garrus shrugged, resigned.

"Go ahead. But no promises."

"You remember Suria? Well, she has a sister coming in for a visit, but we, uh, already had plans for one of the evenings she's staying, so..."

Garrus did remember the asari in question. Smart and friendly, she and Detrus hadn't been together that long, but were obviously crazy about each other. She often stopped by the office to meet him at the end of the day. "So? I don't see how I come into this."

Detrus shifted. "I was hoping you could take her out for an evening."

"What? Why me? Can't she entertain herself for a few hours? It's the Citadel, there are a billion things to do."

"Well..." Detrus scratched at his orange colony markings, looking embarrassed. "She might be relocating here, and she's been complaining that she never meets anyone interesting, and Suria offered to introduce her to someone, so..."

Garrus groaned. "Are you kidding me? I'm not exactly..."

"Hear me out! She used to be a commando, so she knows her way around a weapon. You'd have things in common. And... it might do you some good. You know, get out there and see people again."

Garrus frowned. He wanted to say that he did see people, but the occasional dinner or outing with Shepard and David wasn't exactly the same thing, was it? Instead, he said, "It's only been a year, Detrus."

"I know, I know. Look, it doesn't have to be anything serious, but it would really do me a favor."

He hesitated. Maybe Detrus was right; maybe, at the very least, he should attempt to meet someone new. It was awfully easy to sink into a routine of work and family and old friends. He sighed. "Fine. Send me the details."

#

Shepard was mildly surprised to get a vidcall from Garrus the day after their trip to the park. Her heart jumped as she looked at the flashing icon on her console. For a moment, she wondered if he'd been thinking what she'd been thinking; usually he just sent her a message instead of getting on the vidphone. She shook herself. It probably wasn't anything like that at all.

Still, she took a moment to set her hair to rights before she answered the call with a smile. "Hey, Garrus, do you need something?"

"Yeah," he said. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor and look after Lexa later this week? In the evening, I mean, possibly a bit late."

"Sure," Shepard said. "The kids will have fun. We can watch a vid or something. Actually, David has been asking if she can sleep over sometime, so that would be an option, if you don't mind."

His mandibles twitched. "I, ah, shouldn't be that late, but thanks."

"Okay. What's going on? Do you have a meeting or something?" Shepard wondered if turians did the sort of evening social gala that human military and diplomats sometimes had to, or if there was some sort of strategy meeting going on.

The mandibles twitched again, and he rubbed the side of his neck, looking up at the ceiling. "Or something. It's... kind of a date, actually."

Shepard swallowed. Her chest felt suddenly tight. That was the last thing she'd expected. She shut her mouth and blinked several times to stop herself from staring at Garrus with wide eyes. "Oh. Really?"

"Yeah." His gaze suddenly locked on hers. "What, do you... do you think it's a bad idea?"

_Yes, it is_, she thought_. The only person you should be dating is me._ Instead, she said, "I'm just surprised, that's all. You hadn't said anything about wanting to."

He looked down, fiddling with his collar. "Well... it's a long story. I wasn't planning on it, but someone I work with set this up, so it's hard to say no."

Shepard's eyes narrowed. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask who the meddling colleague was, so she could hunt him or her down. Garrus was continuing, though, "... but I probably could cancel it if I had to. Do you think I should? Maybe it's... I don't know if it's okay for Lexa, or... what do you think, Shepard?"

Shepard pulled herself out of her own thoughts and took a real look at him. He was fidgeting in about six different ways at once, visibly shifting his weight in his seat, fingers flexing, mandibles twitching, his eyes shifting from side to side. She could not manage to be irritated with him when he looked so uncomfortable. _Be a friend_, she told herself, and took a deep breath. "Only you can really decide if it's the right time, Garrus. I mean—" she tried not to let herself sound too hopeful "—you can cancel the date if you're not comfortable with it, but you can also go and see what it's like. You're not really making a commitment to anything by going on one blind date."

He looked at her, finally, his head tilted to one side. "Blind... date?"

Shepard recognized the questioning expression. "Um, a date that someone else set up for you. Blind, because you haven't met the other person."

"Oh." He nodded. His entire stance had relaxed. "You're right, of course. I'm blowing this out of proportion. Thanks, Shepard."

She forced herself to smile. "You're welcome."

#

Garrus dropped off Lexa a few nights later. "Hello, ma'am!" the girl called out cheerfully. "I already had dinner. Can I—"

Shepard smiled at her. "David's in his room. You can go see him."

"Thanks!" She went running off. The girl hardly ever walked when she could run or skip or bounce, Shepard reflected.

She turned back to Garrus and was momentarily lost for words.

"She's been looking forward to coming over," he said. "Couldn't stop talking about some game she wants to play. Shepard? Something wrong?"

"No," she said, too quickly. "Not at all."

His mandibles twitched. "Do I look all right?"

She'd never seen him dressed quite like this. He'd used to wear his hardsuit all the time; in the old days, she'd only seen him in civvies a handful of times. These days she more often saw him in casuals, but tonight he was wearing sleek dark gray trousers and a matching jacket over a black shirt. The jacket was trimmed with stripes, blue and green and white, and a hint of metallic silver. Shepard tore her eyes away from the way the outfit outlined his body to meet his nervous gaze. She swallowed. The colored stripes made his eyes look especially bright and vivid. "You look great," she found herself saying.

"Really?" He looked down. "It's a new suit. Does it fit all right?"

Without entirely meaning to, Shepard reached out to smooth the one wrinkle marring the front of the jacket. Warmth radiated through the layers of cloth, and she could feel his heartbeat beneath her fingers. "Really. It's perfect," she said. It fit like a damned glove, in fact, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and chest, the turian-style jacket hitting at the bottom of the ribcage to draw attention to his slender waist. Shepard pulled her traitorous hand back before it could wander, curling her fingers into her palm. "You can thank your tailor."

He shrugged. "We'll see about that. Thanks for looking after Lexa, Shepard."

"It's no problem," she said. Her smile felt a little strained.

Garrus checked the time. "Well. I should go. I'll be back to pick her up in a few hours."

"Sure," said Shepard. "No need to rush. Just send me a message if you'll be later."

#

Once Garrus had gone, Shepard paced. Restless energy drove her around the apartment. Garrus was going off on a date with some... she didn't even know what species, actually. Turian, probably. Some clever turian woman who'd be witty and lovely and... no. It probably wouldn't go anywhere, would it? He was only going to oblige a colleague. That's what he'd said.

But she couldn't settle down, couldn't stop her mind from worrying over the idea of Garrus out on a date.

She stuck her head into David's room to distract herself. The kids were playing a game, giggling at the screen as their game characters dived off a cliff. "You two having fun?" Shepard asked.

"Yes, ma'am," said Lexa.

"Yeah! Hey, Mom, do you want to play?"

Shepard hesitated, then shrugged. The game might help keep her mind off things. "Sure."

It took her a little time to get used to the controller, which felt clumsy in her hands, too light and too bulky, unlike the solid weight of a rifle or shotgun. Once she'd gotten it, she acquitted herself fairly well. It was a cooperative game, so the three of them formed a team, carving their way through an army of cartoonish masked opponents. After an hour, Shepard felt pleasantly exhilarated, though she winced when she stood up and her bad hip twinged in protest. Her hands and wrists felt a little sore, too. She shook them out. "How about a treat?" she suggested.

Both of the kids were very much in favor. Shepard headed to the kitchen and found Lexa trailing behind her. "Can I help?" she offered, twisting her hands together.

Shepard smiled. "Sure. You can dish your own." She'd started keeping a carton of the iced fruit concoction Lexa liked in the freezer. Lexa scooped some out for herself while Shepard got ice cream for herself and David.

Lexa licked off the spoon and sighed. "This fruit is my favorite. It doesn't keep well. I haven't had any fresh since we moved here from Palaven."

"Do you miss it?" Shepard asked. "Palaven, I mean."

She shrugged. "Sometimes. I miss Grandfather, and Aunt Sol. I like it here, though. I like seeing all the aliens."

Shepard nodded. "There aren't a lot of us on Palaven, I guess."

"I like our apartment. It's—" Her mandibles drew in for a moment. "It's nice. Dad let me pick out the furniture for my room."

Shepard went to put the ice cream back in the freezer. Behind her, Lexa said, "I wonder if he's having a good time."

Shepard paused. Slowly, she put the carton back on the shelf and shut the freezer door. "Did he tell you what he was doing?" she asked, carefully casual, turning around.

Lexa shrugged again. "He said he was having dinner with some asari."

_Asari_. Oh, that was just perfect. She could have coped with a turian, Shepard suddenly felt, but not some ageless asari with her perfect blue tits and vaguely superior air. "Are you okay with that?" she asked. She probably shouldn't be pumping Lexa for information, but she couldn't stop herself.

Lexa ate a spoonful of icy pink stuff before answering. "I guess so. I don't..." She fidgeted in place. "I don't think he really wanted to go, so..."

"Mom?" David called. Shepard managed to control a guilty flinch.

"Coming," she called back, picking up his dish of ice cream and heading back to the other room.

She kept turning over Lexa's words, though, while they ate dessert and watched an episode of the Blasto animated adventure show. By the time they were done, and she returned to the kitchen with the dishes while the kids watched another episode, she had nearly made up her mind. She needed to say something to Garrus. If it was bothering her this much to think about him on one blind date, what would she do if he started dating more regularly? Yes, she should tread carefully, but it seemed dishonest to conceal her feelings. Maybe it wouldn't go anywhere, or change anything, if she spoke up, but at least she'd have said it.

The doorbell rang while Shepard was rinsing the dishes. She started toward the door, but it opened and Garrus came in before she got there. "Hey, Shepard, I hope you don't mind if I come in."

"Hey," she said, startled, and checked the time. He'd been gone for a couple of hours, barely. Enough time for a date... but probably not enough time for a good date. "I didn't expect you back this soon."

He shrugged. "Yeah, well. Mind if I sit?"

"Not at all." Shepard joined him on the couch where he flopped down, almost gracelessly, stretching his long legs in front of him. Shepard watched as he rubbed the side of his head before venturing to ask, "How'd it go?"

Garrus tilted his head back. "Fine, I guess. She was perfectly pleasant and polite, and I think we'd exhausted topics of mutual interest after about twenty minutes. I don't know what Detrus was thinking."

Shepard almost sighed in relief. "Not really your type?" she suggested.

"I don't know. Do I have a type? I've never really gone for asari, I suppose. We certainly didn't seem to have much in common. She seemed just as glad to end the date as I was, so there's that."

Shepard nodded. Maybe she didn't need to say anything after all, a cowardly part of her mind whispered. It certainly didn't seem as though he'd be out and about looking for more dates. "How did it feel to go on a date?" she asked.

"Honestly? Strange. It's not as if I ever spent much time on that kind of thing before." He shrugged. "Well. You should know, I never had romantic skills to speak of."

His tone was dry, but somehow bleak, in a way that made her heart ache a little. She leaned over and put her hand on his shoulder. "I think you did fine."

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I shouldn't really be doing this anyway. I know you said I should give it a try, but it feels too weird. You didn't even really think it was a good idea, did you? I thought you looked like you didn't approve."

Shepard swallowed. No, she couldn't keep hiding. She needed to say it. "Garrus, it wasn't that I disapproved of your going on a date. The truth is, I just... would have preferred you were on a date with me."

There was a brief silence. Garrus turned toward her and blinked, his jaw slightly dropped. Shepard fought down a sudden surge of panic. She tried to convince herself that it was best to have said something, as he said, "What?"

She sighed. She couldn't un-say it now. "I've... I still have feelings for you, and I spent most of the last two hours feeling jealous that you were out to dinner with some asari instead of me."

"Still," he repeated.

His tone was strange, but Shepard wasn't sure what it meant. Her shoulders tensed, and she rattled on, "Yeah. So... I understand if you don't feel the same way, but I thought I should say something. I'm not trying to make anything weird..."

Garrus held up one hand, and Shepard stopped, swallowing her next words. "Shepard, I just... hold up a minute, here. I thought you didn't..." He stopped, shaking his head. "I thought you broke things off because you... didn't. Feel that way. About me, I mean."


	10. Chapter 10

Garrus felt utterly disoriented, as though the gravity had suddenly changed or the oxygen content of the room had shifted. Certainties he'd held for over a decade now crumbled. He'd told himself, more than once, that his own feelings for her were unrequited. That, to her, their brief liaison had been strictly casual, nothing more than some fun and stress relief with a friend. He shouldn't have been surprised, it was all they'd talked about at the start, after all, and he'd had his share of that kind of relationship among his own people. But... had Shepard really said what he thought he'd heard?

_Still._

_I still have feelings for you_.

Not _again_, not _now_, not _for the first time_. _Still_.

His reaction stumbled off his tongue, and Shepard blinked. Her brow furrowed, her brown eyes closed briefly, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose. She said, "Oh. I guess... I guess I never really explained myself, when I..."

"You said you wanted to be friends," Garrus blurted, and he grimaced a little at his lack of self-control, but the words just kept slipping out. "And I thought... all we'd talked about was relieving stress, so I assumed you didn't... and then Kaidan was back..." He forced himself to stop there. No good could come of criticizing someone's deceased mate.

"Oh, God." Shepard pressed both her hands to her face, briefly, and then dropped him and met his eyes with a steady gaze. Soldierly. It was reassuring, a little bit. "No, it was never that casual. I always cared for you. What we had was important to me—it always has been."

"Then _why_?" he burst out. Just as quickly, he shook his head. "No. You don't... you don't have to explain." He pushed himself to his feet and paced his way across the room, too restless to remain sitting any longer.

What she was telling him was what he'd hoped for, once, a long time ago. They'd had such a brief time together before she'd turned herself in, and they'd never really talked about anything more than... stress relief. So he'd gone home, the way they'd talked about, pulled every string in his possession and then some, and suddenly found himself heading a damned task force, of all things. And bit by bit, sitting at his desk, collecting reports, sending memos to every corner of the Hierarchy, he'd allowed himself to hope. He'd hoped that Shepard would be free again; that they'd fight side by side once more; that she'd welcome him back as a partner and lover. Well, he'd gotten two out of three; there were worse outcomes. He could still remember standing in the battery as she looked at him, strained and worn, her dark eyes sad, saying, "Right now I need the friend." Fair enough; he could understand that, and he'd told her so. He hadn't entirely believed her when she said she didn't consider him a distraction, but there had been bigger problems to deal with than his own disappointed hopes, so he'd put them aside. He'd had more than enough other things to worry about, in any case.

He'd thought about it, though, thought it over and analyzed and come to the conclusion that there had never been anything very serious on her side, after all, that she'd never felt about him the way he'd felt about her. There was nothing wrong with that; it happened. But what she was saying now was entirely incompatible with that conclusion. He _wanted_ an explanation, badly; but at the same time he _didn't_, and dreaded what that explanation might include.

Shepard's eyes followed him as he paced in her living room. She sat straight on the couch, her hands folded in her lap. "No, you deserve an explanation, but I don't know if I have a good one. Everything was... too complicated."

"Complicated... how? Because of the war?" he asked, trying to understand.

"Partly that, but also..." She drew a deep breath. "I loved Kaidan, too. I mean, I was angry at him, after Horizon..."

"I remember. I was there."

"... but I still cared, you know? I didn't see him again until we were leaving Earth, after the... after the attack. We got orders to go to Mars, and we'd been arguing again there. The same old stuff, Cerberus and everything else, but then he nearly died, and... it was terrifying." She shook her head, slowly. "Then, once we got to the Citadel, I heard Palaven was hit. I was worried sick about you, too. Everything was falling apart. I needed to focus on the fight, and... I decided I didn't want to complicate things. I'd figure out the personal stuff later."

Garrus nodded, trying to take things in. That almost made sense. Almost. Except: "But you didn't say that. You said you just needed to be friends, but when Kaidan was on his feet, you were back together again." He'd tried telling himself for a while that she clearly didn't need to be tied down to anyone in the middle of a war, but it was clear when Alenko joined the crew that they were restarting their relationship. They'd both been professional enough, but they'd stolen little glances at each other when they thought no one was looking that told volumes. Plus, Alenko had carried himself like a man who couldn't believe his good fortune. In his darker moments, Garrus couldn't believe in Alenko's good fortune, either. Garrus knew he shouldn't be pushing this now—it was like scratching at a wound he'd thought healed long before—but he couldn't help wanting to investigate, trying to make sense of everything.

Shepard ran her fingers through her hair. "I know. I... listen, it's hard to really remember everything I was thinking and feeling back then. But Kaidan and I talked, and he really wanted to try to make things work. I wasn't sure about it at first, but he was persuasive." Her eyes had softened, her gaze growing distant, and her mouth turned up in a half smile.

Something in Garrus's gut twisted in response. "Persuasive? Shepard, I took you at your word, I gave you what you said you needed. I didn't know I was supposed to persuade you you wanted something else."

Her smile fell and her eyes widened slightly, focusing on him instead of the past. "That's not... I didn't mean it like that. He didn't push me into anything I didn't want—"

"Which you didn't want with me."

"That's _not_ what I'm saying." Shepard rose to her feet, too, moving to intercept his trajectory across the room. "I'm trying to tell you I care for you."

Garrus laughed. It seemed to scrape at his throat. "That's funny, because it sounds like you're telling me I was always your second choice."

"What?" She grabbed for his wrist, her slim fingers closing around it. He tensed immediately but stopped moving, his blood pounding through his veins. Shepard said, "No, that's not it—"

"Isn't it?" He had his argument all prepared. The evidence looked incontrovertible. She had turned to him before when she was angry at Kaidan, when he wasn't around. She was turning to him now that Kaidan was gone.

Shepard kept talking before he could lay it out, though. "_No_. I'm telling you I loved both of you."

When he met her eyes, they were shining, damp but resolved. The words dried up in his mouth. He searched for a response and found none that could adequately give voice to the whirl of emotions inside him. Shepard smiled again, but her voice seemed sad when she spoke next. "I've really made a mess of things, haven't I? I didn't mean to hurt you, but obviously I did. I'm sorry, Garrus. You deserved better than—" her voice wavered a bit, and she took a deep breath. "Your friendship got me through some really difficult times, and you deserved better from me in return."

Garrus blinked. He hadn't expected an apology. He hadn't expected any of what had just happened, but... he knew Shepard didn't apologize lightly. Her eyes still had an extra sheen. Her teeth pressed slightly into her full, soft lower lip. Now he let himself remember, just for a moment, what those lips and skin felt like. He remembered how she'd kissed him a few weeks ago, smelling of liquor and subtle perfume. And at the park— she'd practically been in his arms, for a few minutes, and then she'd been behaving oddly ever since. It all made a lot more sense now, but it left him... disoriented. She was still looking at him, and he finally found his voice. "Shepard... I don't know what to say. I don't know what to think about any of this. I spent a long time convincing myself that you didn't feel anything like that for me, and I... I need to some time to think about it."

Shepard nodded. "Okay." She let go of his wrist and patted his arm, awkwardly. "I'm sorry. Take all the time you need. I'm not trying to pressure you. I wanted to put things out there, that's all. We can talk about things later. Whenever you're ready."

"Okay," he said. They stood there in the living room looking at each other, a little too close for casual conversation. Or maybe not close enough. He wasn't sure. Not only had she toppled his entire understanding of the situation, the idea that she'd loved him all along, and she'd never even mentioned it, had still married Kaidan as if there was nothing else— that hurt, and he wasn't sure what to do with that information. He moved away, finally, heading toward David's room to collect Lexa. He had to go around Shepard to do it, and there was an awkward moment where they brushed against each other, her shoulder against his arm.

"Sorry," she said. "I thought you were going the other way."

He mumbled an apology as well. Lex bounced out of David's room when he knocked, bright-eyed and chattering about their game. He failed to really register most of what she said. Shepard opened the front door for them, and as they passed through, she said, "Garrus?"

"Yes?"

She smiled, a little tentative. "You know where to find me if you need me."

He smiled back, without really thinking about it. "Yeah. Good night, Shepard. And, ah... thanks for looking after her." He nudged Lexa, who piped up with a thank-you of her own

"No problem," Shepard said. "Good night, both of you."

#

"That's the bell," said David. "Is it your dad?"

Cautiously, Lexa opened the door a crack. She could see her dad and David's mom walk across the living room and sit on the couch. She closed the door again, quiet as could be. "Yeah. They're sitting down, though. Maybe they'll talk for a while and we can play some more."

"Cool," said David, starting a new match. His soldier had beaten hers in the last one, although overall she had a slight edge on him.

They kept playing, but Lexa's concentration was off. She kept expecting Dad to knock (he always knocked) or call her name from outside. David took full advantage of her distraction. She pulled her mandibles in tight as he took the match.

Her sharp hearing caught a noise coming from the living room, but it didn't sound like her name. She frowned, looking toward the door.

In the lull, since their characters weren't shooting at each other any more, David heard it too. Raised voices. That was weird. Usually the grown-ups just talked or laughed together. Lexa's eyes met David's, and, in silent agreement, they moved to the door and listened.

She couldn't make out many words. They weren't loud enough for that. But the tone was strange. Not angry, quite, but intense in a way that she didn't understand. But Dad's subtones were... were... he sounded really _upset_. Not annoyed like when she skipped her homework or disobeyed; not sad like when they talked about Mom, either; but something _else_, something that made her plates itch. She listened harder, pressing her head against the door, and started to pick out some of the tones: hurt and disappointment and confusion, at least, and maybe something more, she wasn't sure, his subtones were wobbling around too much to be sure. She'd _never_ heard him sound like that before. There was enough distress that she felt an instinctive desire to comfort, but this was _Dad_ and she didn't know how. She started breathing harder.

David noticed. "What is it?" he whispered.

Lexa shook her head. She couldn't explain this properly. She barely understood what she was hearing herself, and she knew David couldn't hear things the way she could. "Dad seems... I don't know. Upset." The word didn't seem strong enough. "Maybe something went wrong while he was out?"

"Maybe." David frowned, his eyebrows drawing down. His jaw stuck out when he did that. "That's weird. Your dad's always calm."

"I know," she replied. It was true. Dad was always in control. He always knew what to do. If Dad was upset, something was really wrong somewhere, and that made her feel tense and defensive.

They both heard the footsteps coming toward the door. They scrambled away, so that when Dad knocked and called, "Lex, it's time to go," they could pretend they'd just finished the game. He sounded all right, then, maybe just a touch shaky. So Lexa put on her best face and tried to be cheerful. But she watched her dad, carefully. His eyes seemed far away and he was quiet the whole way home.


	11. Chapter 11

After she'd gotten David put to bed, Shepard was much too keyed up to sleep herself. She paced around the apartment, trying to work the tension out of her muscles. She felt caught between relief that she'd stated her mind and anxiety for the reaction she'd gotten. She hadn't been naive enough to think she'd get a completely positive response, but she also hadn't been expecting the degree of surprise, confusion, or sheer _hurt_ that Garrus had shown.

It made sense, really. Of course he'd thought she hadn't cared as much. The two of them had never talked very much about feelings. They'd talked about friends and guns and tactics and what their next steps should be. Once they'd gotten past the—uh—cross-species intimacy angle, thanks to Mordin and his useful if mortifying diagrams, everything had been simple and easy, with hardly any change to their friendship at all. They'd had so brief a time together, really—only a few weeks between the assault on the Collector Base and her surrender to the Alliance—that there had never been _time_ to talk about love or expectations. Shepard knew that she'd been so focused on the Reapers that she hadn't given much thought to a future of any kind. Kaidan had been the one who encouraged her to daydream with him about a future, a family, retirement. In the end, none of those things looked exactly like their dreams, either.

But that was beside the point. The point was, she could see how and why Garrus had drawn the conclusions that he had, and it wasn't as if she could go back to twelve years ago and provide his younger self with a better explanation that might ease the hurt she'd caused him. She wasn't even sure if there was anything she could say that _could_ have made it better. For better or worse, here they were, and she could only hope that some time and reflection would sort things out. What she needed to do now was not rush to explain herself all over again, but wait, and give him the space he'd asked for. She could remember well enough how he tended to think things through in private. Brooding, she might almost call it.

She hated waiting, though. She'd learned patience, over the years—parenthood had been especially good for that—but it didn't come easily. She especially hated waiting when she didn't know how long she'd have to wait. And she didn't know how long it would take before he'd be ready to talk.

She finally went to bed, later than she usually would, and passed a restless night.

Morning brought with it the usual routine of getting David up, fed, dressed, and off to school. "Hey, are we having dinner at our house this week or their house?" he asked over breakfast.

"What?" Shepard replied, distracted by Rusty's bounding around the kitchen while waiting for his food.

David looked at her as if she were particularly dense. "Lexa and Garrus. 'Cause we went to the park last weekend, and that was fun, but we didn't have dinner, remember?"

Shit. Shepard restrained herself from actually saying the word. When you'd just offered to give another person time and space to think over something difficult, you really shouldn't be hauling that person over to your house like nothing had happened. "Maybe we won't do it this week," she said. "You just saw Lexa last night."

David frowned, his lower lip sticking out. "But we see them every week! It's a _tradition_."

She suppressed a smile at that solemn declaration. "That's only been true for the last few months, and you know it."

"But that's as long as they've lived here! Come on, Mom!"

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather do something different this weekend? We could go out and see a vid, or..."

His jaw jutted out. "Mom! No! Lexa would be sad."

Great. Why did she have to have a stubborn kid? She had to admit he came by it naturally, though. From both parents. She tried another tack: "I think Garrus might be busy this week."

He looked downcast for a moment before saying, "But Lexa could still come over, right? Like last night? She was really disappointed that she couldn't stay the whole night."

"Well, you shouldn't have promised her any such thing."

"I didn't _promise_," he protested, eyes widening. "We just thought it would be fun."

Shepard sighed. "I'll call and ask. Now run and get your stuff, or you'll be late."

She still had to work up the nerve to actually call Garrus again.

"Hey," she said quickly, as soon as he answered the vidcall. "It's me. Sorry to bother you in the middle of the day, I know I said take all the time you wanted, but, um, this isn't about any of... that." She could have just sent a message, but it had seemed like a better idea to actually call. She wondered _why_ it had seemed like a better idea, once she'd blurted out her greeting.

Garrus's expression went through several rapid shifts and ended up, to her relief, looking a bit amused. "It's all right. What's up?"

Her fingers were tapping against her leg under the desk, where he couldn't see. "David was asking about dinner this week."

"Oh." His mandibles pulled in, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. "I don't know if that's a good idea at the moment..."

"I was thinking the same thing. It just seemed like that would be awkward. I mean, I know you said you needed some time to think—"

"Right. Next week would be fine, I think."

"Really?" He sounded quite calm about it, and she could feel her heart beat a little faster. A plan to see each other next week set an end date to the waiting. She realized she was smiling. "Well... good. Anyway, apparently David's gotten all excited about the idea of Lexa staying overnight, so if that would be okay with you, they could do that instead."

"Hm." Garrus looked thoughtful. "I don't know, Shepard—you did just have her last night."

"It really wouldn't be any trouble. As long as she wants to. I know David does."

"She did say something about it," he admitted. "I don't know, though. She hasn't done anything like that since the accident."

Shepard bit her lip. "If you don't think it's a good idea—"

"Maybe it would be good for her," he said slowly. "If she really wants to. I'll ask her."

"Okay." Shepard smiled, trying not to seem anxious. "I forgot to even ask... how are you?"

She was rewarded with a small smile. "I'm okay. You?"

"Good. That's good. I'm okay, too." Damn it all, she sounded like an idiot, and all her words seemed inadequate. She'd already made her apologies, and she'd promised to give him time, so... there hardly seemed to be anything else to say. "I guess I should let you get back to work."

"Yeah. I'll let you know what Lexa said. And I'll see you next week—I think it should be our turn."

Shepard nodded. "Okay, then." She signed off, and hugged the thought to her as she returned to her own work. Another week.

#

Lexa, as it turned out, was thrilled with the prospect. She showed up at Shepard's door the night of the sleepover bouncing on her toes, clutching her bag. "Can we watch vids all night? Can we play more games? Can we—"

Shepard interrupted. "You're supposed to get _some_ sleep. No staying up all night."

"Oh." She didn't seem particularly disappointed. "But we can have lots of dessert, right? Like the other night?"

"Right," Shepard agreed, with a smile.

It really wasn't any particular trouble to have Lexa over for the whole evening. Shepard had already gotten in the habit of keeping dextro-safe snacks around, so it was very little extra effort to feed her dinner, especially when she offered to help by preparing her own meal. What Shepard hadn't counted on was that she missed Garrus. Yes, she could watch vids with the children, and she was perfectly capable of keeping herself occupied while they played games together or with the dog (with much giggling), but she felt his absence. She thought about sending him a message, but that didn't seem compatible with giving him space.

A few minutes later, though, a message popped up on her omni-tool.

_Everything going okay? G_

Shepard smiled.

_Yes, fine. Was just thinking about you._

A moment later:

_You, too._

Her smile widened.

_It's getting late, I suppose I should send these two to bed. _

_Good luck with that!_

She could almost hear him chuckle as she got up and started toward David's room.

#

Shepard woke up to a piercing noise. She tensed, but it took her sleep-dazed mind a moment to realize that she wasn't in the midst of a dream, and she still didn't understand the noise. She sat up, trying to figure out what might be causing it. Beside the bed, Rusty whined, and then took off, in a flurry of fast-moving feet.

But he wasn't barking, or growling. Shepard rubbed her eyes and struggled out of bed, feeling old and slow and stiff. As she stepped out into the hallway, the sound resolved itself in her ear: a kind of high-pitched wail, almost, coming from David's room...

"Shit," she breathed, and set off across the apartment as fast as she could go.

David had turned on his bedside light, casting a circle of yellow light, and looked at her with wide eyes as she burst into the room. "Mom, I don't know what—"

"You should have called me right away," she said, firmly but not harshly, and dropped to her knees with a wince. "Lexa?"

Lexa was curled into a ball with her hands over her face, tangled up in the sturdy blue fabric of her sleeping bag. Rusty whimpered, as if in sympathy, and nosed at her forehead. Shepard hesitated for a moment and then put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Lexa? You're safe here."

At Shepard's touch, she opened her eyes and inhaled, a gasping breath, her mandibles quivering. She stared at each of them, wildly, and then, with a small cry, wrapped an arm around Rusty and buried her face in the tawny fur.

Shepard was mildly surprised that the dog didn't object in any way. Instead he settled down next to her and licked Lexa's arm. Shepard patted the girl's shoulder awkwardly, trying to find a more comfortable position to sit in. "David, would you go fetch my omni-tool? I should call Garrus."

"No," said Lexa immediately, lifting her head. "Please... not yet. I... can I have a glass of water?"

"Sure thing. David would you get it, please?"

David nodded and left the room. Shepard stayed where she was. Lexa slowly sat up, petting the puppy instead of holding on. She ducked her head. "I haven't had one that... that bad in a long time."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Shepard asked quietly.

Lexa did a curious full-body shiver and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I... it was... there was so much blood."

"The accident?"

She nodded. "It happened so fast, there was a big bang and then there was blood _everywhere_." Her eyes were going distant. "I called but she didn't answer, and..."

"Hey." Shepard touched her arm, lightly, to bring her back to the present. "I'm so sorry, Lexa. I'm sorry that happened, and I'm sorry you had to see it."

She shuddered again, and Shepard shifted until she could put an arm around her shoulders. Somewhat to her surprise, Lexa immediately leaned into her, with a stifled sobbing noise, and Shepard hugged the girl tighter. No one should have to lose a loving parent so young, especially to have it happen right in front of her. She felt helpless to do much about this hurt, but she hugged Lexa, and murmured soothing noises, as she'd do with David. It seemed to help, or at least Lexa cuddled into her side, a bundle of angular limbs.

David returned a few moments later with the glass of water, which Lexa accepted and drank gratefully. "I'm sorry about your mom, Lexa," he said in a whisper.

"Thanks." She set the glass down carefully. "I'm sorry about your dad, too."

He sat back on his heels, awkwardly. "It was a while ago. I mean, I miss him, but it's... not so bad, any more."

Shepard reached out to give him a hug with her other arm. He scowled slightly, but let her gather him in. It really hadn't been that long, she wanted to say, but... it had been three years, now. Close to a third of David's life. The thought made her throat thick, but he was right: it hurt less, over time. "Shall I call your dad now?" she asked Lexa, when she could speak again.

Lexa's mandibles flared. She shook her head. "Please don't. Could you please just not tell him?"

Shepard frowned. "Why not?" She felt certain that Garrus would want to know, and she couldn't imagine that Lexa had anything to fear.

Lexa looked up at her earnestly. "I really am getting better. I used to have nightmares all the time—every night—but now I haven't had one for _months_. Really. And I don't want Dad to worry."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable keeping a secret from him," Shepard said slowly. "It's part of a parent's job to worry, Lexa, and he needs to know if there's something wrong."

"But he's been sad anyway, and—" Lexa stopped herself abruptly. "There's nothing really wrong, right? I just have a bad dream sometimes. And it really has been a long time since the last one."

Shepard bit her lip. "Did he say anything to you? About being sad?"

"No. I can just tell." Lexa looked up at her imploringly. "I'm really okay. He doesn't need to worry about this again. Please?"

Shepard hesitated, but Lexa's blue eyes were so earnest that she gave in. She couldn't help but sympathize; she'd had nightmares pretty regularly herself, after all, and to some extent, a person just had to deal with them. "All right. I won't say anything for now, but you have to promise me something, okay?"

Lexa nodded quickly.

"Promise me that if you do feel sad, or the nightmares come back more often, or you have any other kind of problem, you'll tell someone, okay? Tell your dad, or me, or one of your teachers. Some grown-up you can trust. I know what it's like to have bad dreams, but you don't have to fix your problems all on your own."

"I promise."

"All right then." Shepard gave each child another squeeze, and then, on impulse, kissed Lexa on the triangular plate of her brow. "Are you two ready to go back to bed?"

The two of them looked at each other. "Can we watch one more episode of Blasto?" David asked, and Lexa nodded.

Shepard heaved an exaggerated sigh, but she was relieved by the utter normality of the request. "Fine, but just one."


	12. Chapter 12

Lexa came home from her overnight visit cheerful and chattering, as usual. "Did you have a good time?" Garrus inquired.

"Yes!" She bounced. "We played lots of games and we watched a lot of _Blasto Adventures_ and ate dessert." She stopped. "Did you have a nice night, too?"

"I did, actually." It had been odd, though. He really hadn't had an evening to himself for a long time. He'd spent a while tinkering with his rifle mods, a project he'd set aside for lack of time when they moved to the Citadel. It had been pleasant, and relaxing, to do some practical, hands-on work for a change, but the apartment had been oddly quiet.

Usually, sinking himself into a technical task allowed him some space to reflect and get his thoughts in order. He hadn't managed to settle his mind this time, though.

_I still have feelings for you_

_What we had was important to me_

_I loved both of you_

Shepard's words floated around his head, twisting his perception of those long-ago days, the explanation he'd developed to make sense of things. A part of him resented her rejection, and her lack of clarity. Had loved them both, she'd said, but she'd never told him so at the time, never intimated there might be a question of preference. Another part of him exulted in the affection that he'd wanted years ago. Those long-shut-away feelings threatened to open up again. He tamped down the urge; it might be foolish to go charging in rashly. She'd changed, that was very plain. He'd changed. They'd been young soldiers, working together against ever more insurmountable odds; now they were older, more settled, with different responsibilities and commitments. They could hardly just pick up where they'd left off.

A part of him felt guilt, too. What did it say about him, if he could so quickly return to an old love, his wife barely more than a year gone?

And part of him simply felt stunned.

The next week passed all too quickly. He spent most of the days mired in meetings, reports, and threat assessments. The daily routine of work and school didn't leave him much time for sorting out what he wanted. As the work week drew to a close, he contemplated postponing the weekly dinner once again. Lexa would be upset if he did, though, and he had to admit that he'd miss seeing Shepard and David, too. They hadn't even gotten in a shooting lesson in the past week, and he'd only exchanged the briefest of messages with Shepard. That by itself felt strange, considering how much he'd gotten used to talking to her over just a few weeks.

The problem was that he still wasn't sure what he wanted to say to her, but... at least they could have a better conversation while they were both calmer, surely.

#

Shepard went to dinner trying to contain a bubbling sense of anticipation. It felt like too long since she'd seen Garrus, and tonight they'd have a chance to talk, finally.

Her anticipation was dimmed, though, when he seemed surprisingly on edge over dinner. He had made lasagna again; when Shepard attempted a joke about needing to expand his levo-cuisine repertoire, she expected banter back, but got fidgeting and stammering instead. She wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not, even if she couldn't help smirking a little at his nervousness. If the kids weren't in the room, she would have tried to stare him down and push it, make another joke, maybe a reference to the old days, to see how far she could get, but it seemed out of place with the two children bouncing around and chattering about school and games. It was a good thing the kids were feeling talkative, because Garrus was uncharacteristically quiet, which in turn made Shepard uneasy.

Finally they finished eating and got the kids set up in Lexa's room watching a vid. Shepard returned to the kitchen to find Garrus already busy cleaning up. She hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen, folding her arms. He usually brushed off her offers to help in favor of putting David and Lexa to work.

"Hey," she said. "I was hoping we could talk, but... we don't have to right now if you don't want to."

"I..." He looked down at the dishes he was loading into the dishwasher, as if there were insights to be had there. "I don't know if I have a good answer for you. I keep thinking about... what happened before."

She took a step into the room and leaned back against the counter, trying to look casual. "Back when I broke things off?"

"Yeah. I wish you'd been... I don't know. More... clear."

Shepard bit her lip. "So do I," she said. "I'm sorry. I don't think I handled things very well."

Garrus waved his hand, almost dismissively. "You had a lot to deal with. I understand that. I understood it then." He took a deep breath. "I don't know if it would have changed anything, if I'd known how you felt." He turned to face her, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've been trying to get my head around things."

Shepard tensed, her fingers digging into her arms. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I just... I told you, I spent a long time convincing myself that there wasn't anything like that between us, and when you said you l- loved both of us... I've been trying to figure out how that could be true."

Shepard drew breath, trying to find some response that could explain the complex whirl of emotions she'd had back then, but Garrus kept talking, though his voice wasn't quite steady. "I knew, though." He looked at her now, and she felt almost caught by the crystal clarity and intensity of his gaze. "I know what it feels like to love two people at the same time."

"Garrus," she said, taking a step toward him.

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I put what I felt for you aside, because I didn't think anything would come of them, but they were never _gone_. And I loved Mely—" His voice wavered.

She took another step, almost close enough to reach out for him. "I know."

"I still do, even though she's... not here." He broke off, looking away. "She was... I don't have the right words. We were _partners_. We just... fit, and everything seemed easier when she was there. But I still—"

She was close enough, now, to put her hand on his arm. She said, quietly, "I always loved you, too."

For a moment he sagged, his head tilting toward her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. She put her other hand on the side of his face, the old scars worn down under her fingers. For a breathless moment they stood together, and then Garrus stiffened. "Wait," he said, his voice definitely cracking now. "Damn it. I—I'm sorry." He coughed.

She pulled her hands back, curling her fingers into her palms. "What's wrong?"

He backed away, bracing both hands against the countertop behind him. "I don't know if I can do this. Not right now. I don't— I almost wish I could, but..."

Shepard let her arms hang at her sides. "Talk to me, Garrus. What's going on?" she said, trying to keep her own voice even.

He shook his head. "She's only been gone for a _year_. What does it say about me, that I'd start something with someone else after just a year? Or— re-start something? Isn't that worse?"

"Since when do you care what other people think?" Shepard fired back.

He gave her a wavering smile, a weak one. "People change. You've changed, haven't you? I don't want to treat her like some kind of substitute."

"It wouldn't have to be like that," Shepard said, but she already had a sinking feeling that this was one argument she wouldn't win. "What would be so bad about trying to make each other happy?"

"Would we? Could we even work?" He started pacing, the kitchen too small for him to manage more than a couple of strides. "Back then, we were always running, always fighting, always amped up. It made sense. Stress relief. We pulled each other out of the fire, over and over again. Is that a good foundation for anything... lasting? Things are different now, there are the kids to think about, and I'm sure you could find someone more... compatible if you wanted to."

Shepard tensed, her frustration rising, and finally broke in. "I haven't exactly been looking! I don't want someone... closer to home, I want—"

"Didn't you?" he said.

Her breath caught, and she stood frozen. She would have been angrier—she could feel her heart hammering in her chest—except that the expression on Garrus's face was so perfectly bleak it made her feel cold. "You're saying you don't trust me," she breathed, unbelieving.

Garrus shifted, and his shoulders twitched, but his gaze didn't waver. "No. I don't— you said that before, and then... I don't know."

"You _always_ trusted me."

"We're not on a mission now," he said, voice low. He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry, Shepard. I... probably shouldn't have said any of that. I'm still figuring things out."

She wanted to scream or argue or find _something_ to say to convince him to give them a chance, but nothing came. "No," she said. "I'd rather you were honest, even if it's... not easy to hear."

"I'm sorry."

His voice was thick, resonant with subtones. Not for the first time, Shepard wished she could hear him properly, could understand all the nuances of his speech. "You can take more time to think things over. I can wait."

He cleared his throat and shook his head. "That doesn't seem fair to you. I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking. I told you, I haven't been trying to find someone. I haven't really dated in years." Or ever, if she was going to be really honest with herself. "It's just... you came back into my life, and all those old feelings came back, too." She swallowed, her throat feeling thick.

Garrus nodded. "Yeah. I'm... I just... I don't know, Shepard. I'm sorry."

She nodded back. "Take some time, then. I'll get out of your hair. Fringe. Whatever. Give you some space." She turned and started toward the living room, with no very clear idea of what she intended—she could just sit on the couch, maybe, she didn't want to haul David away just yet—

But David and Lexa were both standing in the hallway outside Lexa's bedroom door, watching with wide eyes. Shepard wondered, for a frozen moment, exactly how long they'd been standing there.

"Mom?" said David, hesitant.

"Hi there," Shepard said. Her voice sounded almost normal. "Did you guys finish your vid already?"

"Um... sort of," Lexa said. She was scraping at the floor with one foot, looking nervously toward her father.

"Well. Maybe David and I should go, then. It was nice seeing you both. Have a good night." She started toward the door, and David followed along as if caught in her wake.

"Mom?" he said again, once the door had closed behind them. "Are you— is everything all right?"

She pressed the back of her hand against her eyes. "I'm fine," she said firmly. "Just tired. Let's go home."

#

The apartment seemed very quiet after the door closed behind David and his mom.

"Dad?" Lexa said, uncertain. He came slowly toward the doorway.

"Yes, Lex?" He sounded more weary than anything else, but he sounded upset, too, like before, and she didn't quite understand why.

She crossed the living room, hesitantly. "Are— were you arguing?"

He didn't quite laugh, an almost soundless exhale. "Not exactly. It's all right, sweetheart. Give me a hand cleaning up?"

Lexa obliged, clearing the last of the dishes away and wiping off the table. Eventually, she dared to ask, "If you weren't arguing, what were you talking about?"

Dad sighed, and it turned into a cough. "That was supposed to be a private conversation, Lex."

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. He sounded more tired than angry, though.

He dropped down into a crouch so they were eye to eye. "How much did you hear?"

"Um..." Lexa looked down. "You were saying something about Mom? And looking for something? But I wasn't sure what." Their voices had been raised then. After that they'd started talking too quietly to hear, which was why she and David had crept out into the hallway, but she didn't want to say that.

Her dad reached out and tipped her chin back up. "Shepard and I are trying to figure some things out. It's not something you need to worry about."

"But—" She hesitated, trying to fight back the awful fluttering feeling in her stomach. "Why were you talking about Mom?"

"Because I still miss her," he said, and she knew from the look on his face and his subtones that it was true.

That didn't help her sense of _wrongness_, though. Dad had been too distracted, sad, and strange lately, and tonight David's mom had been unhappy, too, Lexa was almost sure of it. "I do, too," she said, and added, in a rush, "you— you're not unhappy because of me, are you?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, sweetheart. No." He leaned forward and scooped her up. In another mood, Lexa might have protested that she was too big to get picked up like that, because she _was_, too big and too old, but Dad picked her up easily anyway, and tonight she clung as if she were little again. He carried her into the living room and sat with her on his lap, her hands tight on his cowl. "You make me very proud and happy, Lex. What made you think any different?"

"I don't know," she said, trying not to duck her head; Dad liked it when she looked him in the eye. But it was hard to say she was worried; it seemed silly to be worried about Dad, even if she couldn't help feeling like something was wrong. "I just thought you were upset and I didn't know why."

He sighed. "It's complicated. I've had a lot of things to think about, but I promise it's not about you."

She wanted to ask more questions. She didn't really think he'd answer, though, so she nodded. "Okay."

"Listen," he said after a moment. "Do you like Shepard?"

Lexa frowned, puzzled by the question. "Yeah. Of course. She's really nice." She remembered how nice she'd been after the nightmare, but she still didn't want to tell Dad about that.

"Okay. Good," he said softly. "But, Lex?"

"Yes?"

"Don't eavesdrop any more."

He sounded firm. Lexa flinched a little, even though Dad was holding her tight and it was nice. "Yes, Dad."

#

Mom acted bright and cheerful, but David hadn't missed how she'd wiped her eyes when they left. He knew it was absolutely no good asking her about what had happened. He spent the entire weekend chewing it over in his head, and collared Lexa as soon as he saw her at school on Monday morning.

"Lexa!" he hissed, pulling her to a quiet corner of the classroom while their classmates chattered at each other. "What happened?"

"I don't know," she said. "Dad just said it was complicated and they were figuring something out. What did your mom say?" She seemed really calm about it. David frowned.

"She didn't tell me anything. And she _cried_," he said, indignant.

Lexa cocked her head. "Really?"

"Only a little," he admitted, "but she _never_ cries! You dad must have done something really bad!"

He could tell Lexa was mad at him because of the way her mandibles flexed and her brow plates tilted down. "Turians _can't_ cry_,_" she said. "Dad's been upset for days. Maybe _she_ did something bad."

"She did not."

"How do you know?" she countered.

"She wouldn't! Besides..." He dredged through his memories of stories the grown-ups had told. "She's the _commander_. She must be right."

Lexa's mandibles flared. "Not any _more_," she said. "I bet Dad outranks her now."

She was probably right. Mom had been retired for a long time. David sank into a mutinous silence. Lexa added primly, "Dad says we shouldn't listen any more."

"You _told _him?"

"We were right there! They saw us! And going out in the hallway was your idea!"

"You could have said we came out for some other reason!"

Lexa gave him an absolutely withering glare. "I'm not going to lie to my Dad."

"You told Mom not to tell him about your nightmare!"

She scowled. "That's different. It's not really a _lie_."

"Turians," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" she snapped.

David opened his mouth, about to say something about turians and their stupid rules, when a teacher noticed their spat and made them sit at separate tables. He shot Lexa angry looks all afternoon, but she always seemed to be ignoring him.

He didn't do nearly as well on his math problems as usual.


	13. Chapter 13

Shepard spent the weekend feeling sorry for herself. She put on a calm face as she kept to their ordinary weekend activities, but it was a mask. David was quiet all weekend, though—surprisingly so, really. He did his homework and chores without complaint and amused himself with Rusty or his games the rest of the time. Shepard braced herself for questions, but he seemed to be giving her a wide berth. She had to admit she was relieved that she didn't have to explain herself. It was even more of a relief when he headed off to school on Monday, and she could be completely alone with her thoughts.

She didn't usually indulge in self-pity. In her experience, there was not a lot of point in asking _why me?_ It was almost irresistible now, though. Maybe it had been too much to hope for, that she and Garrus could pick up their old relationship and carry on, but they'd always been friends. They'd always been good together.

Somewhere inside, though, she felt a certain grim sense of satisfaction. She'd been right, after all: Garrus wasn't ready to move on; losing his wife was still too recent, too raw. She understood that. She could even get, on an intellectual level, that there might be something uncomfortable about going back to an old flame, as if the relationship he'd had in between hadn't really mattered.

But that didn't ease the sting of rejection. And the idea that he didn't _trust_ her really hurt. Garrus's trust was like... oxygen. Something fundamental to her existence, something she'd relied on for years. Garrus had followed her into Cerberus's shadow with no visible hesitation, and again when he'd left his burning planet behind to join her crew during the war. He'd been calm and supportive and reliable and always, always there. Even when Kaidan hadn't been.

And she'd repaid that loyalty really fucking well, hadn't she?

Shepard blew out a breath and tried to concentrate on the report in front of her, ignoring the chiding voice inside her head. This was the price, wasn't it? He'd trust her to look after his kid and be his friend, but he couldn't trust her with his heart, not really. She'd broken things off and let things go because it had been easier for her, because she was trying to sort out her own feelings in the middle of a goddamned galactic invasion, and _this_, in the future she hadn't thought she'd get, was the price of that choice.

She realized she'd been scanning the same paragraph four times without actually registering any of the details. "Fuck it," she muttered under her breath, pushing herself out of the chair to limp around the apartment, trying to stretch the kinks out of her neck and shoulders. Rusty followed along, hopefully, but Shepard wasn't sure she was in the mood to go outside. She felt like staying in her apartment-cave and snarling at anyone who happened by.

It wasn't entirely her fault, she told herself. He hadn't exactly been clear about his feelings back then, either. If she'd known how he felt, maybe she'd have handled things differently.

No. She shook her head, rejecting the thought. "Damn it," she said out loud, curling her hands into fists so tight that they ached. She had to stop lying to herself. She'd let herself think that Garrus wasn't that invested, because he'd accepted her words after Menae and carried on without bringing it up again. But she'd known the truth, hadn't she? Or she could have, if she'd let herself think about it. Even if Garrus never said he loved her in so many words, he'd said other things, done other things, that should have spoken loudly enough. _I just want something to go right_, he'd said, that first time. And he'd listened quietly, after Bahak, while she paced the room and ranted out all her fears and frustrations, until she ran out of words and started crying, when he'd pulled her into a solid embrace. She couldn't forget the way he'd looked at her on Menae, as if she were a lifeline suddenly in his grasp, or how nervous he'd been when they talked afterward. When she gave him the "let's be friends" speech. The memory made her wince. Even after that, he'd looked after her in a hundred little ways, practically taking on the duties of an XO without being asked, nudging her to sleep when she was pushing herself too hard. He'd even given her a freaking _pep talk_, in the end, which no one else, not even Kaidan, had thought to do. She'd had all the signs she should have needed, hadn't she? And she'd let herself overlook them, because it made things simpler for her. She had to wonder: how much had it cost him to give her all that support, with so little in return, watching her rekindle her romance with Kaidan? No wonder he'd gone home as soon as he could, finally taking the opportunity to look after himself for a change. "Damn it," she said again. She couldn't even say what she might have done differently if she'd acknowledged what was going on. Because she _had_ loved Kaidan, too, and she couldn't bring herself to regret the nearly nine years of marriage they'd had. She certainly couldn't regret David, who wouldn't exist if she and Kaidan hadn't been together.

But she could regret hurting someone else she'd loved. She _had_ to regret it, didn't she, if she wanted to consider herself a decent friend. It was no wonder, really, that Garrus couldn't entirely trust her when she said she cared for him and wanted to be with him.

The real problem was, she had no idea how to _fix_ things. This was not a problem that she could shoot or cajole her way through.

She stopped her pacing through the house and blew out a breath. At a time like this, she wished she had someone to talk things over with. She would have called Tali—but Tali had as much as warned her. _Be careful, _she'd said, and she'd be entitled to say _I told you so_ now. Shepard couldn't bring herself to face it. Her other closest friends from the old days were mostly guys, and she was sure that they had less than no interest in hearing about her romantic woes. She'd made friends since living on the Citadel, but they were the kind of friends she talked about kids and school with. She couldn't imagine going into all this old heartache with one of them. She told Rusty about it instead. He waved his tail, dark puppy eyes fixed on her, and she tried to take comfort from it.

#

David had come home from school on Monday in a grumpy mood, slamming the door and sulking at her when she told him not to slam it. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he'd grumbled. He looked so much like his father when he was cross, dark brows lowered, youthful jaw jutting stubbornly, that Shepard sighed. She'd let David stalk off to his room. Pushing him for information in a mood like this was a sure route to a temper tantrum.

Today he'd gone to school early for biotic training. Restless, Shepard took a seat at the console and checked his school file to see if his teacher had any unusual remarks for the previous day. There was; a quarrel with Lexa, of all people. _I wouldn't remark on it, except the two of them usually get along so well_ , the teacher said. Shepard heaved a sigh. Perfect. Not only had she managed to fuck things up between her and Garrus, that was fucking up their kids' friendship, as well. She wondered if Garrus had gotten the same note. For a moment, she thought about giving him a call to talk about it. Her fingers toyed with the call button, but she let it go. The kids ought to be old enough to work things out on their own, right?

She tried to get back to work, and managed to get through the rest of the report before her console chimed to tell her she had an incoming call. She checked the ID and was surprised to find that it came from the Vakarian household. She was more surprised when Lexa's image came up on the screen, visibly tense: her shoulders stiff and her mandibles twitching. It made Shepard feel uneasy right away. She straightened up and leaned forward a little. "Lexa? What's wrong?"

"Hi, um, ma'am. Commander," she said, her voice softer and more hesitant than usual. "I'm not sure... it might be nothing... but you said I should call if there was a problem."

"Are you okay?" Shepard asked sharply, and then consciously moderated her tone to something more soothing. "Was it another nightmare?"

Lexa shook her head. "No. I'm fine. But... I think Dad's sick, and I don't know what to do."

Shepard frowned. "Why do you think he's sick?"

"He's been coughing a lot, and he's still in bed. He never sleeps this late. But… he says he's fine."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Of course he does," she said. This was vintage Garrus, all right. Classic. She couldn't count the number of times he'd acted as though a serious injury was no big deal, not even including the damned rocket. He shouldn't be pulling that kind of crap now, though. On the _Normandy_, he had a CO and a chief medical officer to keep an eye on him. Lexa was just a kid; she didn't have the experience to judge whether he was legitimately okay, or doing some kind of minimizing tough-guy bullshit.

She was looking at Shepard now with a wavering smile and hope glinting in her eyes.

"I'll be over as soon as I can," Shepard told her.

#

Now that he thought back, Garrus realized this had been coming on for a while: the tickle in his throat, the fatigue, the general sense of illness. He hadn't registered it over the last week, too busy thinking about other things. Come to think of it, not feeling well might even have had something to do with his remarks to Shepard after dinner the other night. His judgment wasn't always the best in such circumstances. Over the weekend, things had really ramped up, though. Despite his best efforts to get some rest, he'd spent half a day engaged in urgent communications about a rash of pirate attacks disrupting supply chains to outlying colonies, feeling worse all the while. That had led to more hours in fruitless meetings on the first day of the week, and he'd woken up feeling truly terrible that morning. He activated his omni-tool long enough to call in sick, then deactivated it and flopped back into bed.

"Dad?"

He opened his eyes to find Lexa peering at him, already dressed for school. "Hey, Lex," he said, before dissolving into a bout of coughing.

"Dad? Are you sick? Should I call someone?"

"I'll be fine," he said. "You go ahead and go to school." His attempts to sound firm were somewhat hindered by another round of coughing, while Lexa fidgeted.

"Are you sure? Shouldn't I stay home and... and bring you things?"

"I just need some rest, then I'll be better."

"Okay," she said after a moment, and he heard her light steps retreating to the door.

He drifted in and out of sleep for a while. Whenever he woke up, his throat felt terrible, and he'd cough for minutes before grabbing for a glass of water. He roused again when he heard voices, and wondered who Lexa was talking to, or if he was imagining the whole thing. Then his bedroom door opened again, and heavier steps entered. "Garrus? You awake?"

His eyes shot open, and Garrus pushed himself into a sitting position. He blinked and brought up the lights a little to make sure it wasn't an apparition standing by his bed. Shepard frowned at him, her dark braided hair swinging against her cheeks. "Shepard? What are you doing here?"

"Lexa called me," she said. "She's worried about you."

Garrus groaned. "Really? I'm fine." To demonstrate, he swung his legs out of the bed and stood, trying to ignore the slight wobbling sensation in his knees.

"You don't look fine," Shepard said, looking him up and down.

He opened his mouth to say something and coughed instead, a racking, wet cough that nearly doubled him over.

"Don't sound fine, either," Shepard observed. "Maybe you should go back to bed."

Stubbornly, Garrus stayed on his feet. "Shepard, I appreciate it, but you really didn't have to come all the way over here—"

"Stop it," she said, with a commanding inflection that made him twitch reflexively. "You're not fine, and your daughter's scared to leave you alone. You know she depends on you."

Garrus winced. That was a low blow. It wasn't that he wanted Lexa to worry, but... "It's a cough. It's not going to be fatal."

"She's a kid. She doesn't know that." Shepard approached and, before he quite realized it, laid her hand on the side of his neck. "And it's a cough and a fever, if my omni-tool's not lying to me about the normal range of turian body temperature. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with someone looking after you?"

He only then realized that he was dressed only in the loose pants he usually wore to bed. Several responses flitted through his mind, but none of them would quite take shape. "Fine," he said at last, sinking down to sit on the bed.

Shepard patted his shoulder briefly. "I'll get Lexa off to school. Do you have any medicine for that cough?"

He shook his head, ignoring the blurry sensation he got when he did so. "Haven't needed anything since we got here."

"Tell me what you'd usually take and I'll order it. Pharmacies deliver on the Citadel, you know. You want something to drink? Eat?"

The idea of eating anything made his stomach feel unsettled. "Just water."

Shepard nodded. "I'll bring you a glass."

#

Lexa didn't want to go to school, but Shepard insisted, cheerfully, resisting the girl's unconvincing attempts to claim that she was getting sick herself. A short time later, the cough medicine was delivered by a spry young salarian who barely stopped moving long enough to toss Shepard the box. She had to wake Garrus up to get him to take it. He swallowed it obediently and collapsed back into bed, shivering. Shepard didn't like the looks of that. Trawling through the extranet gave her an excessive amount of information on turian illnesses, most of it not very helpful. She did manage to look up how to check a turian's temperature properly, and then managed to convince Garrus to let her do it, which probably would have been harder if he wasn't so out of it. Two degrees above normal. Shepard frowned. He felt like a volcano; it was hard to believe the situation wasn't more serious than the thermometer would suggest.

She let him rest, though, with a glass of water by the bedside. She left the door ajar so she could hear if he called and retreated to the living room, returning to review the reports she'd loaded onto her omni-tool. She made a reasonable amount of progress, in spite of the horrendous hacking coughs that kept coming from the bedroom. If that cough medicine was doing anything, Shepard certainly couldn't tell. The only time she'd heard him sound remotely like that before was back on Omega, in the plague zone. She'd known she shouldn't have been taking him in there, but she'd been desperate, afraid to trust her Cerberus team. Not after Akuze. And Garrus had sworn up and down he could handle it. As it turned out, it was a damned good thing Mordin had worked out a cure.

After a couple hours of fretting, she went in to check on him, and found him thoroughly tangled in the bedding, completely out but breathing hard, with a raspy note she didn't like. He felt even hotter than before. He made a noise and moved sharply. Veteran of many nightmares herself, Shepard thought she recognized the signs, and touched his shoulder. "Garrus. Garrus, wake up."

He shuddered violently before his eyes opened. It took him a moment to focus on her. "Shepard?"

"Yeah, it's me."

He started to get up, pushing himself upright. Shepard put both hands on his shoulders to press him back down into the bed. "Hey, hey. Where do you think you're going?"

The blue eyes looking up into hers were a little glazed, she noted with alarm. "We have to get to the Citadel. Find Sidonis. He—" He broke off with a rattling cough. Shepard winced.

"We did that already," she said gently. "Remember? You shot him."

She remembered. She'd talked to Sidonis, gaunt and nervous in front of her, and in the end she'd let him move, knowing the shot was going to ring out, and it had. She'd never been able to work out quite how she felt about it afterward, whether she thought it was mercy or vengeance or justice. She was pragmatic enough to conclude that it didn't matter, once the deed was done. Growing up on the streets, she'd learned early what the price of disloyalty was. She'd watched Garrus carefully, for a time, after, and he'd seemed all right. More relaxed, as if he'd laid down a burden.

At present, Garrus stared at her in blank confusion. "No, he's—I have to get to the school. Lexa…"

Shepard tried again. "He's not going to do anything to Lexa. He's been dead for over a decade. Remember? We're on the Citadel right now. Your apartment."

There was a long moment when he frowned in confusion, his jaw and mandibles shifting. Then his eyes cleared, and he sagged back down into the pillows. "Right. I remember. Sorry, Shepard."

"I'm calling a doctor," Shepard informed him.

The most alarming part of the whole incident was that he made no attempt to argue on that point.


	14. Chapter 14

"What do you mean you don't have a regular doctor?" Shepard demanded.

"Haven't... needed one," Garrus got out between coughs.

Shepard frowned at him. "I know you've only lived here for a few months, but even so..."

He burst out into a horrendous series of vile-sounding coughs. Shepard backed off, wincing in sympathy. Reluctant to pick a doctor at random, she resorted to calling her own doctor's office, explaining the situation to the doctor's VI when it answered her call, and asking for a reference. The VI cheerfully supplied her with a list of five well-regarded doctors who practiced general medicine for turians; Shepard called until she found one with an opening. To her mingled surprise and relief, the doctor made home visits, so Shepard settled down to wait.

Half an hour later, Shepard answered the door to find a turquoise-skinned asari carrying a white bag. "Dr. Lasira Danir," she introduced herself.

Shepard showed her in. "Thanks for coming so quickly. I'm glad you were willing to make a house call."

Dr. Danir smiled. "It may be more efficient for patients to come to a doctor's office, but I'm not convinced it's best for the patient. Sick people belong at home, not out exposing others to their illness and getting complications. Try telling most turians that, though, huh?" She glanced around. "So what's the situation?"

"He has a fever and a bad cough, and he seems pretty out of it. The last time he woke up, he was getting confused about things that happened over a decade ago."

The doctor nodded as Shepard showed her the medicine she'd already tried. "And you're the spouse?"

Shepard jammed her hands in her pockets and tried not to look sheepish. "Um, no. Just a friend. Family friend."

"Nice of you to help out," Dr. Danir observed. "Okay, let's have a look at the patient."

Shepard trailed Danir into the bedroom, feeling superfluous as the doctor briskly woke Garrus, introduced herself, and proceeded to administer a brisk examination. She checked his temperature and peered at his throat, took readings from several instruments and fed samples from her swabs into the diagnostic unit she'd brought in her bag. Garrus went through the whole thing compliantly, eyes half-closed. Shepard worried at her lip with her teeth as she watched them.

When the diagnostic unit beeped, the doctor looked at its screen and nodded. "I'll want to do a more extensive set of labs, but I think what we have here is a basic respiratory virus—I happen to know there's one making the rounds of Presidium offices at the moment—compounded by a bacterial lung infection. It's a good thing you called; this could turn serious quickly if untreated."

Shepard raised her eyebrows. "How serious?"

"If the fever were much higher, I'd want him in the hospital." Garrus made a half-protesting noise at that, but the doctor continued, "That shouldn't be necessary as long as there's a competent adult to stay with him and administer meds. I can send a nursing service if necessary."

Shepard's shoulders tightened. "No, I think I can manage." She disliked the idea of a stranger coming in, almost as much as she had disliked the idea of leaving him alone in the first place. It might actually be hazardous if he woke up disoriented again, it would probably alarm Lexa—in general, she'd rather take care of things herself.

Danir nodded. "Thought you'd say that. I'm going to prescribe something to bring the fever down a bit, a better cough suppressant, and, most importantly, a targeted antibacterial."

Shepard listened carefully to Danir's instructions on using the medication, which all sounded manageable enough. "His daughter lives here, too. Is there a risk of infection?"

"How old?"

"Nine, I think."

"Mm. I'll wager she had the virus already. Probably hardly even noticed. This sort of thing tends to hit adults harder. Particularly if they insist on working through it," she said, amiably but pointedly, in the direction of the bed.

Garrus made a grumbling noise.

"So it shouldn't be a major problem, but it's not a bad idea to minimize contact for a couple of days, make sure they wash up before and after contact, that sort of thing." Danir was packing up her diagnostic unit as she spoke. "You should start seeing a marked improvement within a day or two, assuming I've pegged the infection correctly, and I do have three hundred years' experience at this. I wouldn't advise resuming normal activity for at least six days, though." She tapped Garrus's shoulder. "Hear me?"

He grumbled something else before repeating, "Six days. Got it."

Danir winked at Shepard as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "Turians are almost all like this," she confided as Shepard escorted her back to the door. "You can make some headway with the notion that it's better for society if they don't go around spreading contagion, but mostly they try to tough it out. My father was turian, and absolutely terrible about that sort of thing. Now, do call me if the fever gets any higher. Actually, I'll send a list of conditions to your omni-tool. Call me if any of those happen. If he suddenly has seizures? Call an ambulance first and call me second."

Shepard swallowed. "Roger that."

"It's not likely," the doctor reassured her. "But turians don't handle temperature fluctuations well, so there can be serious repercussions."

Shepard nodded, feeling on edge. Her instincts had certainly told her to call in medical help, but now she was visualizing all the things that might have gone wrong, and it made her feel a little ill herself.

"Hey." Danir touched her shoulder lightly. "Medication should take care of it. Call me if symptoms get worse instead of better. I'll check in tomorrow in any case."

#

When she'd come over this morning, Shepard had thought it might not take long: set Lexa's mind at rest, get Garrus taken care of, head back home. In the present circumstances, though, she wasn't willing to leave him alone. Once the doctor had left, she took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself and thought things through, breaking down what needed to happen into smaller, specific tasks. It was the kind of mental preparation she had once used to prepare for combat, but it could be surprisingly useful in everyday life, to boot. First she sent her next-door neighbor a note with a temporary keycode, asking her to take Rusty out, since he'd already been at home alone for a few hours; Shepard would owe the neighbor a favor for later. She sent a note to David and Lexa's teacher apprising her of the situation. After a little mental debate, she sent a note to Lexa telling her that a doctor had visited and things were fine. Finally, she sent David a message:

_After school go home and get Rusty and a change of clothes for you and me, then come over to Lexa's. Take Lexa with you. _Garrus wasn't fond of the dog, but Lexa was, and having him around might help her feel better; besides, Shepard didn't feel good about making the neighbor responsible for him if this was going to last a few days.

A reply came back a few minutes later.

_Why?_

Shepard rolled her eyes. _Just do it, please. And stop checking your messages during class._

_It's recess. I'm allowed to check my omni at recess. I don't want to talk to Lexa._

Shepard sighed, frowning at the screen. _Be nice to her. Her dad's sick._

Her reply was one word: _Fine_, and she could all too easily imagine how sullenly he might say it. She sighed again. She needed to have a talk with him.

The door chimed then; it was the salarian from the pharmacy again, with the latest batch of medications. Shepard accepted the bag with thanks, and the salarian waved cheerfully before speeding on his way, loaded down with further deliveries. She'd worried somewhat about getting Garrus to take the meds, but they were all administered using an injector. She didn't need to get him to swallow, just find the right spot on the unplated skin of his neck or between the plates of his upper arm to insert the injector. That meant she didn't even need to wake him up. Garrus muttered half-heartedly at the sting, but didn't actually resist. Shepard bit her lip as she finished the last dose of the three and laid his arm down. It was remarkably unnerving to see him like this: eyes shut, his breathing a little too fast, too shallow, wheezy, lying almost limp in the bed. She ran her fingers down the length of his arm, lean and tough and sinewy, but looking slender, almost fragile, in this state. She gave his hand a squeeze, and got a twitch in return, his fingers curling slightly against hers. When she moved her hand away, he twitched all over, restlessly, and flopped onto his side, facing away from her.

Shepard was used to associating Garrus with action, motion, alertness, strength, resilience. Yes, she'd seen him sick before, coughing his way through the plague zone; and she'd seen him tired, injured, on the brink of death, hot blue blood spilling from his wounds. But this was different, somehow, disturbing because of just how ordinary it was. It was hard to hold on to any anger or even disappointment when he looked this miserable, this vulnerable.

Shepard rounded the bed and climbed up on the other side, watching his face. His breath was easing a little, giving her some hope that the medicines were doing their job. Tentatively, she reached out and lightly stroked her fingers along the sweeping spines of his fringe. She knew he didn't have a lot of feeling there; rather, the tactile pleasure was for her, the surface smooth and metallic, but also organic, with a slight give. She stroked again, her fingertips finding the small irregularities in the surface, and watched the slight twitch of his mandible, the tiny shifts of the planes that made up his face. "I do love you, you know," she said, with a sigh. "I've been going about this all backwards, haven't I? I keep telling you I loved you and Kaidan both, back then, and I should be telling you I love you now. It's true, you know. I love how much easier you seem with yourself, and I love seeing what a good dad you are to Lexa, and how good you are with David." She sighed again. "Look at me. I don't even have the guts to say this to you when you're awake, just when you can't hear me. The great Commander Shepard. I'm sorry I fucked things up."

Garrus made a kind of sighing noise and settled into the bedding. Shepard smiled as she watched him and then found herself yawning. She hadn't slept well the last couple of nights, tossing and turning as she worked over this problem in her head. She felt her eyelids grow heavier. The room was warm, and dim, and quiet. It wouldn't hurt anything to rest for a little while; she'd wake up if Garrus needed anything, and her omni-tool would wake her before the kids got home from school. She settled herself down into a more comfortable position amid the pillows and covers and dimmed the light further, and soon she sank into sleep.

#

Shepard woke with a start, fighting a sudden sense of panic. She was far too warm, not in her own bed, and she was pinned down by some weight. She tensed instinctively, blinking several times as she gradually remembered where she was. Garrus's apartment. Garrus's _bed_. Oh.

She was too warm because there was feverish turian curled against her, and she felt pinned because his head was on her shoulder and his arm stretched across her midsection. She lay there for a moment, shocked at the casual intimacy of it, the firm pressure of his body against her side. His breath was warm against her chest. Garrus was sick, she reminded herself firmly. He'd barely been coherent earlier. He had quite likely moved near her in sheer unconscious instinct. Still, as she slowly relaxed into the bedding, she tilted her head to the side, until her cheek rested on top of his head. He didn't seem aware of the soft touch, but she could feel the ridged texture and heat against her face. She thought his breathing sounded better, at least; still a little raspy, but deeper and more relaxed than before.

She would have liked to linger in the peaceful moment, but she was still too warm, and the kids should be arriving home from school before too long. Trying to move carefully, without disturbing him, she slid her hand under his wrist and gently lifted his arm from its place across her ribs.

A moment later, his breathing hitched, and she felt him tense against her. He lifted his head, and when she turned hers, she found herself looking into entirely lucid blue eyes. Shepard smiled, a little nervous. "Hi there."

Garrus blinked. "Crap," he said. "I'm sorry, Shepard." He pulled away and rolled onto his back, away from her, but she didn't let go of his wrist in time, so the motion tugged her over, as well. She propped herself up on her elbow and withdrew her hand. Garrus was carefully not looking at her.

"Don't worry about it," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "I'm not going to hold you responsible for anything you do in your sleep."

"Right," he said, his voice sounding raspy and thick. He coughed, but it was only a small one.

Puzzled by his reaction, she decided to change the subject. "How are you feeling?"

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Better, I guess. How long was I asleep?"

She brought up her omni-tool and checked the time. "Most of the day. Do you remember when the doctor visited?"

He grimaced. "Sort of. Bossy asari, right?"

Shepard's lips twitched. "All the best doctors are bossy, you know that. Anyway, you're due for another dose of meds in a couple hours, and the kids should be here in less than an hour. I told David to come over with Lexa and bring Rusty—I hope that's okay. I promise I'll keep the dog out of here so he doesn't bother you."

"Shepard, you really don't need to turn your whole life upside down—"

She reached out and touched his shoulder. "You're on three different meds. The doctor thought your fever was serious, and said there should be an adult around to keep an eye on you. And I agree. I don't want Lexa to have to worry about giving you all that stuff, and I don't think you do, either. Either I'll do it, or I'll call the doc and she'll send a nurse over. Is that what you want?"

She'd been trying to keep her tone neutral, informative, but her voice rose a little at the end. Garrus closed his eyes. "No, but— I can't ask you to do all this."

"I really don't mind," she said, more gently. "I mean, whatever else we are or aren't, we're still friends, at least. Aren't we?"

"Yeah. Of course." He sounded startled, and she decided to take that as reassurance.

"So I'll go if you're... not comfortable with this, but I'll worry anyway."

He blew out a breath. "Okay."

By the time the kids arrived, Shepard had had enough time to splash some cold water on her sweaty face and neck, make sure Garrus ate something (some sort of reheated stew that he seemed to view with more duty than appetite), and shut his bedroom door firmly. Rusty came running up to her immediately, barking happily, and Shepard leaned over to scratch his head and shush him. Lexa came pattering up after, shyly petting the dog herself. "Is Dad okay?"

"He's going to be fine," Shepard assured her. "He's resting right now, but you can peek in if you want."

Lexa nodded, dashing off toward the bedroom. Shepard held on to Rusty so he couldn't follow her. Looking up, she found David still lingering by the door, bags in hand. "How was school?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Fine, I guess."

Lexa came back, looking serious. "Dad doesn't usually sleep so much," she said in a small voice.

Shepard patted her shoulder. "Well, sick people need lots of rest. It'll get better."

She tried to keep the rest of the afternoon resolutely normal, getting snacks for both kids. Lexa was happy enough to chatter about school, although David answered in monosyllables while petting the dog. Lexa found some spare bedding so Shepard could sleep on the couch. She had both of them get started on their homework.

It was after David snapped at Lexa for the third time when she asked him a question or offered to help with his math problems that Shepard intervened. "David, could you come here a moment?" she called, beckoning him to the end of the hall near the bathroom, about as far as they could get from where Lexa sat at the table surrounded by datapads. He pushed himself away from the table roughly, as if he couldn't wait to move, but his footsteps dragged as he came down the hall to join her.

"What's wrong?" Shepard asked in a low voice, hoping they were quiet enough that Lexa wouldn't hear.

David scowled at the floor. "Nothing."

"Don't give me that. You're being a pill. And you're not being very nice to Lexa."

He scowled some more, shoving his hands in his pockets and scraping at the floor with his shoe. Deep down inside, she felt a temptation to roar at him to stand up straight and look her in the eye. But he was a child, not an errant recruit, so she waited.

"Why are we here?" he burst out, finally. He managed to keep his voice quiet, too, but the intensity in it surprised her.

"We're helping out Lexa and Garrus for a little while because he's sick," Shepard replied. "I don't want to leave Lexa all alone while her dad needs help, do you?"

"But—" He looked up at her now, and his brown eyes were troubled. "I don't get it. He wasn't _nice_ to you."

Shepard frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The— after dinner. Last Friday. You were arguing. Weren't you?"

"Oh, honey." Shepard sank down into a crouch to put them at eye level, wincing as her hips and knees protested. She tried to think how to explain the situation to him without dredging up all sorts of things he didn't need to know. "Sometimes people disagree, and it doesn't mean either of them did anything wrong. Garrus didn't do anything mean to me, I promise."

"But— I saw you _crying_, Mom."

She had thought she'd covered up for that. No wonder David had been in such a mood. She sighed. "Yeah. I was upset. It's really sweet of you to care about my feelings, honey, but it still doesn't mean Garrus did anything bad, and I'm not mad at him." That wasn't _completely_ true. What he'd said then still stung, but the resentment she felt was a tiny ember compared to all the other things she felt.

David looked less angry now, and more as if he were trying to puzzle everything out. "You _were_ arguing, though. Right?"

"Sort of." Shepard tried to think how to explain things to him. As if she were so good at navigating relationships. Wasn't that why she was in this mess in the first place? "I asked Garrus for something, and he said no. He's allowed to say no, it just wasn't what I wanted to hear."

David considered this. "Okay," he said finally. "I guess I see." His furrowed brow said he didn't _quite_ see, but how could he, really? There was so much emotional baggage, and as far as she knew, he hadn't even had his first crush yet. She suppressed a mental shudder at the thought of what adolescence might have in store for him.

"Good." Shepard straightened, careful with her joints. "Now, how about you apologize to Lexa for being rude, and then help me pick out something to order for dinner?"

He nodded and darted back down the hall. He was already making his apology by the time Shepard got there, much to her relief.


	15. Chapter 15

Shepard had thought it might be odder, waking up in someone else's home, trying to manage the usual morning routine with an extra kid. Admittedly, she did wake up somewhat stiff and sore from spending the night on the couch, but dealing with the kids was surprisingly easy. Where a human child might have complained that _her_ parent did things differently, Lexa responded to Shepard's guidance almost with relief. She was cheerful and cooperative as she helped David tend to the dog, along with gathering her own things, dressing, and eating her breakfast. Shepard wondered if it was a turian thing, if part of Lexa's anxiety the day before had been due to the lack of adult authority. All in all, it took only a little more time than usual to get the two of them fed and packed up and sent off to school.

"Can I have a hug?" she asked David.

Some days he grumbled or complained he was too big—and she had no intention of forcing him to hug her if he didn't want to—but today he came to her without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her midsection. She hugged him back gladly. "Study hard. Have a good day."

"Okay, bye, Mom!"

He headed toward the door. Shepard was about to turn away when Lexa took his place in front of her, head tilted to the side. "Can I, too?" she asked, quietly, almost shyly.

Shepard pushed her surprise away. "Of course," she said, leaning over for the hug. It felt different from hugging a human child; Lexa felt bony and angular even by contrast to David, who was a thin boy. She hugged back eagerly, though, the side of her head pressed against Shepard's chest. "Lexa—are you okay?"

"Yes," she said with certainty as she drew away. "Oh! Dad!"

Shepard turned toward the corridor that led to the bedroom, surprised to find Garrus already up, leaning one shoulder against the wall. Lexa went bounding toward him, stopping short at the last moment as she visibly restrained herself from simply charging into him. Garrus leaned down to her level, saying something into her ear than Shepard couldn't hear. Lexa giggled, brushing the side of her face against his, and then dashed off toward the door, calling, "David, wait for me!"

"Well, come on then!" he called back.

The apartment seemed suddenly quiet, once the door had closed behind them. "Morning," Shepard said. "I didn't realize you were up."

Garrus somehow managed a half-shrug while propping himself against the wall, and looking like he needed the support. "Thought I could make it to the bathroom and back with no problem. Might have been overly optimistic."

"Try overly stubborn," she suggested, approaching to offer a hand. He brushed it off, though he all but collapsed back onto the bed when he returned, looking resentful. "I never used to get sick," he grumbled.

Shepard snorted. "Welcome to middle age, Vakarian. Nothing works quite as well as it used to." She waggled the injector. "Time for more meds."

He sighed, but held out his arm without objection. It was clear that the medications were doing their work: he might be easily fatigued, but the fever was down, and the cough had improved a lot. He also seemed far more alert and aware than he'd been the day before. After Shepard administered the first dose to his arm, Garrus tilted his head so she could more easily access the unscarred side of his neck for the other two. That was when she realized that dosing her patient felt very different, now that he was conscious and aware. It was unavoidably intimate, what she was doing. She had to stand close to him, close enough that her thigh brushed against his. She braced her free hand against the ridge of his cowl to steady herself, and she couldn't help but be aware of the warmth radiating from his skin and how resolutely Garrus was not looking at her. She administered both doses quickly and stepped back, glad her skin concealed her flush.

Garrus cleared his throat. "I'm glad you and Lexa get along."

"Oh... right, you saw that. Was that okay? To hug her? She asked, but I didn't know if there was something cultural..."

"What? No. Of course it's fine." He sounded surprised. "She likes you a lot, and she trusts you."

Shepard nodded. "I'm really fond of her, too. I'm glad she thought to call me, yesterday." Part of her wanted to proclaim that she'd never abuse Lexa's trust, but that seemed too heavy a thing for this early in the morning.

Garrus flicked a mandible, but he sounded good-humored enough when he said, "For the best, I suppose. You were probably missing the chance to order me around, anyway."

Shepard's face heated up again. She coughed, trying to keep her imagination from wandering too far afield. "Right. Um. Do you want some breakfast? I have no idea what Lexa just ate, but you can have some of that if you want?"

"I know what she usually has," he said. "That'll be fine."

He was obviously getting drowsy by the time he'd finished breakfast. "Sorry," he said when Shepard came in for the dishes and found him nodding off.

She gave him a puzzled look. "What for? You're not here to entertain me. Get some sleep. Feel better. I'll be right outside if you need anything." He started to speak again, and Shepard held up a hand. "If you say one more thing about how I don't have to be here, I might have to punch you."

He laughed, somehow managing to look sheepish. "Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

Leaving the bedroom door mostly closed behind her, Shepard set to work. She didn't have access to a few of her files, at home on her secured console, but she had plenty of messages and reports to go through on her omni-tool. She noted some discrepancies in one agent's report, thought she saw some patterns in merc activity based on a couple of others, wrote a quick memo to that effect, and so she made her way through her queue of work. Remarkably efficiently, in all honesty. The apartment was quiet. Rusty was curled up peacefully, his head resting on her foot, and somehow she felt less easily distracted here than at home. In the middle of the morning, Dr. Danir called to check in, and was pleased with Shepard's report; while she was thinking about it, she ordered a few days' worth of levo-appropriate groceries, to be delivered. You could get just about anything delivered on the Citadel; the sheer abundance still gave her a sense of amazement, deep down, as she remembered the scarcity she'd known in childhood. The groceries even arrived in time for her to make herself a sandwich for lunch. Soon after, she found herself out of material to review, for a change.

She peeked into the bedroom, but Garrus was still asleep. At loose ends, she paced the length of the apartment. The place was scrupulously clean and tidy, even with its occupant ill; she tidied up the kitchen, a bit, from the meals they'd had in the last day, but that was all. She didn't quite dare to venture into Garrus's closed office. She had high-level clearance from the Council, but that didn't mean she got to poke her nose into whatever sensitive Hierarchy intel he might have in there. She did open Lexa's door, out of idle curiosity. Her room was less neat than the apartment in general, but still better kept than David's room.

Restless, Shepard returned to the living room. The picture frame caught her eye, still showing Lexa in her mother's arms. She picked it up, remembering her conversation with Lexa the first time she'd visited the apartment, and let it scroll through the options. All the pictures seemed to have been taken on the same trip, the same wild, mountainous landscape in the background of each shot. Lexa looking at a brilliantly plumaged... thing... that looked like a cross between a peacock and a Komodo dragon. Lexa with one or the other of her parents. Only the one shot of Garrus and Melia together. They all looked happy, if occasionally tired. Slowly, Shepard put the frame down. On a hunch, she opened a nearby cabinet, and found, indeed, a couple of datapads, the full-color type used to display images. Shepard kept some family pictures on her omni-tool, as most people did, but she backed up her pics to more permanent storage every so often, and it looked like the Vakarians had done the same. She hesitated before picking the datapads up. Was it too invasive, looking at a friend's pictures? It wouldn't do any harm, she decided. There was unlikely to be anything terribly private in these, put out in the main room of the home, and besides, she'd take a quick look and put them away again before Garrus was up and about.

She settled down on the couch and began to browse. Lots and lots of pictures of Lexa. Shepard smiled to herself. She had the equivalent herself, approximately a million pics of David when he was a baby and a toddler, when absolutely everything he did was new and perfect and worth capturing forever. Some were posed, but a lot of them were candid, pictures taken while the girl was concentrating on something else. Shepard's eye kept being caught by the unfamiliar landscapes in every shot: the sky not quite the kind of blue she remembered from growing up on Earth, glimpses of plants and animals and architecture unlike anything she was used to. The backdrops caught her attention partly because the foreground was so familiar and ordinary: a child brandishing her toys or posed neatly in her school uniform, maybe caught in a parent's arms. Really, the only thing different from Shepard's own collection was the species of the family involved. There were several with other people in them: a male turian with familiar blue markings and a stiff, upright posture who had to be Garrus's father, a slim turian woman who was probably his sister, with two or three other children who were presumably Lexa's cousins. There were a few with other turians who had unfamiliar markings, maybe Melia's relatives, or just friends. She wasn't really looking at the dates of the pics, though she noticed that the markers she'd expect from a human album were absent: no pictures of Lexa with birthday cake, no Christmas trees surrounded by presents. If there were equivalent visual markers of birthdays or turian holidays, Shepard didn't know enough about turian culture to spot them.

It occurred to her then that she didn't have nearly as many pictures from the last couple years. Of the two of them, Kaidan had been the really enthusiastic photographer, the one who coaxed her and David into smiling for the camera. She should take some new ones, so she could send pictures to David's grandmother back on Earth.

That thought made her realize that she saw lots and lots of pictures of Lexa here, quite a few of Garrus, and not very many of Melia. She had Lexa's tawnier coloring and slimmer build, and now that Shepard was looking more closely, she often looked a little uncomfortable in front of the camera: arms folded or mandibles pulled in or a slightly awkward stance. It was unexpected, and a little endearing.

She'd been browing through the images at random, but now Shepard sorted chronologically. The results made her blink. The first few were just Garrus and Melia—one or the other of them, more accurately. He looking uncomfortable in formal uniform; she holding up a medal, with what Shepard thought was a wry expression. Bare rooms, of what must be their first home together, the two of them with boxes and paintbrushes, making faces at the camera. And then, the baby, an impossibly tiny bundle, looking especially small when Garrus was holding her, wearing an expression somewhere between awestruck and terrified. There were a couple of batches of pictures with relatives in them, letting Shepard picture a flurry of family visits. But mostly, as she kept going, it was the two parents and their ever-growing child, wobbling around on spindly legs, while the house looked more lived-in around them. A completely ordinary catalog of family moments, the girl getting bigger and bigger as Shepard paged along, until she looked much more like the Lexa Shepard knew, and then eventually the series of images just... stopped. The last one looked like it had been taken on Palaven, in the same house as all the rest, Lexa displaying some drawing to the camera. She could just see Garrus in the background, through an open door, looking intent on something. Work, probably.

Shepard stopped at that last image, and considered. This was Melia Vakarian's collection, clearly. Her family, through her own eyes. She might avoid having her own picture taken, but she was—had been—a person who liked to take pictures, who liked her daughter to show off her toys or sketches, who caught her husband off-guard, in candid moments. That little glimpse of the person who'd been lost forever gave Shepard a strange, hollow feeling.

She leafed back toward the beginning of the collection, one of her favorite shots, from when Lexa must have been very young. Garrus, sitting on the couch with his head tilted back, obviously sound asleep, but with one arm still supporting the baby, who clung to his cowl with both hands, asleep herself and safely nestled against her dad.

"She always said that was one of her favorites," said Garrus from behind her.


	16. Chapter 16

Garrus hadn't been trying to be quiet when he got up, so he wasn't sure how Shepard had managed to not hear him. His first thought when he saw her sitting on the couch was that she must be _really_ absorbed in whatever she was reading.

Then he realized _what_ she was looking at, and his surprise quickly gave way to a small burst of irritation. He had to suppress the urge to say something. It wasn't really that personal, just a collection of family pics. If she or any old friend had _asked_ to see it, he wouldn't have objected. But to have her looking without asking felt— odd.

She was so focused on the images, though, slowly scrolling through, that he stopped and simply watched her. Her eyes intent, her expressive human face flickering into a smile or a frown or a look of concentration. He took a couple of quiet steps toward her so he could see which pictures she was looking at, watched her scroll back to that old one, from when Lexa was just a few months old, and stop. He could see the corner of her mouth turn up. He wondered if she liked the picture as much as Mely had.

"She always said that was one of her favorites," he said.

Shepard jumped and looked up at him with her eyes wide. "Garrus— I didn't hear you get up. I'm sorry—"

He ignored her and went on, "I'm a light sleeper... well, I got in the habit on Omega—"

"I remember." Her voice was soft.

"—and Mely was a doctor, she needed to be alert for her patients, so I got up with Lex more often than not. And that night Lex was fussy and wouldn't settle by herself, so I sat down with her, and..." He shrugged. "I guess it's obvious what happened."

Shepard's lips turned up, but her teeth didn't show. "Yeah, I remember what that was like, those first few months."

"I don't have a lot of pictures of her. She didn't like having her picture taken. I never could figure out why. She said she didn't like the way she looked but I thought she was... well, then again, I was a biased observer."

"Do you want to sit down?" Shepard asked. "You look a little..."

He was listing a bit to port, he realized abruptly, and settled heavily onto the couch next to her. Sitting felt better than he liked to admit. "I'm sorry—" he started, just as Shepard said, "I hope you don't mind—" and they both stopped. She laughed a little. "Go ahead."

He let his shoulders rise and fall. "I suppose it's odd for you to hear me talk about her. I don't have to..."

Shepard surprised him with her hand on his knee, shaking her head hard enough that the short braids bounced. "No, don't think that. You knew Kaidan, I think you can probably guess what our lives were like. But we weren't talking much, so I never knew her." She glanced at the picture on her lap. "I hope you don't mind that I looked at these. I think I would have liked her," she said quietly.

Tali had liked Melia, he remembered. She'd come to Palaven on a diplomatic trip and met her then. She'd given him a hug goodbye before she boarded the ship back to Rannoch, and had said, "Don't let this one get away, Garrus. I think she's good for you."

He had laughed, replying, "I'm glad she has the Tali seal of approval."

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. You probably would have."

Shepard turned back to him, and her brown eyes were fierce. "Whatever happens... with us... or... whatever you decide to do, now or in the future, nothing is going to diminish what you had together. You were together for— what, the better part of a decade? And you made and raised this wonderful, smart kid together. Nothing's ever going to take that away. She'll always be part of your life. However you want to honor that, I'll respect."

Garrus swallowed. A knot in his chest he hadn't realized was there seemed to loosen. He said, "I'm— really glad you said that."

Shepard nodded. A silence fell between them. She looked down at her hand, still resting on his leg, and picked it up abruptly. Garrus caught her hand in his before she could withdraw it entirely. "Wait," he said. "I— there's something I should say, too."

"We don't have to have this conversation right now," she said.

Garrus shook his head. He still felt a little muddled—the last day or two seemed simultaneously very long and as if no time had passed—but a few things were clear, and he needed to get them out. He blurted, "I knew it was you."

Shepard frowned. "What?"

"The other day. Yesterday? I woke up and you were napping, um. With me. And... things were fuzzy, but... I just wanted to be close to you."

She blinked. "I thought you just moved in your sleep."

"That's what I thought." He let go of her hand, filled with a sudden panic. "I... didn't feel right about misleading you."

Shepard moved then, taking his hand again, wrapping her smaller fingers around his. "Listen, Garrus. I know I dumped a lot on you, and I don't want to rush you. I know you've been thinking about this. But can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"What do _you_ want? It feels like when we've talked before, it's been in 'shoulds' or 'coulds'. What do you want to see happen?"

His throat seemed to dry up, but the steadiness of her gaze encouraged him to get the words out past the tightness in his throat. "I... it's hard to say. I don't want to be... disloyal to her. I still miss her, all the damn time." He shook his head ruefully. "Twelve, thirteen years ago I wanted to hear that you... had feelings for me, and look what I'm doing now."

Her shoulders rose and fell, slowly. "Circumstances change. People change."

"Yeah. That's true. Have we... I don't know if we've changed too much. Back then we lived from crisis to crisis. One thing I learned in last twelve years was that everyday life is different. I don't know if we'd make the right kind of partners for that."

Shepard blinked. "Okay. I see what you mean. Could be we wouldn't. But I'm not exactly asking you to marry me here. No crisis every day means we'd have time to figure that out." Her lips quirked up.

Garrus chuckled, until it broke up into a cough. "Yeah. Good point. I might be overthinking things here."

She grinned. "You? Overthink things? Nah, who'd believe a thing like that?"

He was caught between laughing and coughing. "Stop making me laugh when I shouldn't," he protested, fighting through the phlegm in this throat. Shepard was laughing too hard herself to answer. When the laughter died down, he shook his head, reflecting. "There always seemed to be too many reasons not to tell you how I felt. There was never enough time. And you had so much pressure on you already. I didn't want to add to it."

She sighed, her grip on his hand tightening. "I think I knew. I should have known, anyway. It was just easier not to admit it to myself, especially after I ended things." She was quiet for a moment and then shook her head. "We keep talking about the past. Maybe we should concentrate on the present. You know, you still haven't told me what you want."

"I... don't know." That wasn't quite true, he realized. He did want to try things again, but he also wanted to be sure he wasn't about to misstep. The consequences of making a mistake here seemed much too high, not only for him, but for her and the kids, too. "I don't want to disrespect either you or her by moving too quickly."

Shepard squeezed his hand again before releasing it with a gentle pat. "I get that. I mean, I'd rather not be a rebound relationship here. Can I ask—would we be trespassing on some kind of turian cultural thing? Or do you think she'd disapprove, or something?"

Thinking about Mely gave him a lingering, guilty twinge. Mely herself would probably have laughed at him for it. He could almost hear her saying, _What are you doing? You don't have a duty to make yourself miserable. _"No. Maybe hundreds of years ago, it would have seemed proper to wait, but... that's pretty old-fashioned." Since the war, especially, people tended not to make a fuss about that sort of thing. His disquiet suddenly seemed groundless. "And Mely was... practical." He cleared his throat. "I, ah, told her about you and me, you know."

Shepard's eyebrows went up. "Really?"

"Well, things were getting serious, and I thought she should know. I told her about Tali, too," he added conscientiously. "That, um. Made things interesting when Tali visited Palaven."

Shepard laughed, and Garrus found himself laughing, too. She leaned back into the couch, and her shoulder bumped against his. It was comfortable, companionable; comfortable enough to make him feel warm and relaxed. He let his gaze drift across the room. "Shepard, what is it that you want?"

It took her a moment to answer. "I _don't_ want to push you into anything. You know, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times you've actually asked me for something. But you asked, so... first, I want us to keep being friends, no matter what else. I really missed you when we weren't talking the last couple of weeks."

He'd felt the same; the sense of connection rang through him. "Yeah. Me too."

"Beyond that... I'll be honest," she said. "I can't even tell you how stupidly jealous I was of that asari you went out with. If you need to take time to figure things out, or feel better about things, that's fine. I just want to be first in line when you _do_ get things figured out. Is that okay?"

Garrus snorted. "There isn't a _line_, Shepard."

"Make it clear you're looking, and you might be surprised."

He found himself vaguely imagining a queue of women and asari outside his door, and shuddered at the image. "I don't— I'm not— I doubt I'm that much of a catch, Shepard."

"Beg to differ," she said, with a hint of laughter. "Don't you have some kind of fancy rank these days?"

He groaned, tipping his head back against the couch, and finally let it out. "I want to give us another shot. But I don't want to screw things up, for any of us, David and Lex included. And I don't know if I'm making a mistake by waiting, or by _not_ waiting. I feel like I already messed this up once, and I don't want things to go wrong again."

"I remember you saying something like that before, that first time." Her voice was quiet.

"Yeah," Garrus sighed. He could remember vividly that gut-clenching combination of desperation and hope. He'd gone up to her quarters clutching that bottle of wine to hide how badly his hands were shaking, longing for some deeper kind of connection, but terrified it would blow up in his face. Again. It was a shock to realize how long ago it seemed. In spite of everything, they'd come out the other side: not just of the mission, but of the war. Maybe things between them hadn't gone as he'd once hoped, but... his life had still been _good_.

Shepard's hand found his again. "Listen. You were right. We can't just pick up where we left off. We're at different places in our lives now. But we've both learned a thing or two in the last decade, yeah?"

"I certainly hope so," he said with a sigh.

"So what do you say to... starting over? We can take it slow. See how things go for a couple of weeks, or so." He glanced over at her and found her mouth twisting into a half smile. "Seems like we might do better if we talked to each other."

"You have a point there." He dared another look at her. "The, ah, tiebreakers were fun, though."

Her smile widened. "That they were."

On impulse, he reached across with his free hand and touched her cheek, smooth warm brown skin against his palm. In spite of what she'd been saying, he was surprised when she closed her eyes and sighed, turning her face into his hand, her soft lips brushing against his wrist. Everything else faded for a moment except the two of them and the warmth where she touched him, and his doubts faded with them. He swallowed. "All right. Let's give it a try."

Her eyes opened and she smiled at him so radiantly that his heart jumped. A word from him could put a look like that on her face?

His stomach broke the mood by growling loudly. Shepard's smile fell and her eyes widened. Garrus was on the verge of offering an apology, but she exclaimed, "Oh, God. I'm so sorry. You must be hungry and—" she glanced at the chrono readout on her omni-tool "—you're due for more meds in an hour."

"I should eat something," he agreed, though he didn't think the fluttering feeling in his belly was entirely hunger. "And then a shower." Maybe Shepard didn't notice, but he was all too aware of the vaguely itchy feeling that came of being overheated too long.

#

Asking if Garrus needed any help with the shower earned her a _look_. Shepard found her face heating. "That's not what I meant!"

"I think I can manage," he said dryly, hauling himself out of his chair.

He'd eaten lunch with actual enthusiasm, which Shepard decided to take as a good sign. She took Rusty out for a short walk and then busied herself with cleaning up the kitchen, tidying up after their lunches and putting the last of her newly purchased groceries away. The whole time, if she wasn't paying attention, a silly grin kept spreading across her face. She felt unaccountably _giddy_.

Well. Accountably giddy, maybe.

Garrus emerged from the shower in fresh clothes and smelling of vaguely citrusy soap. He looked downright shaky, though, and sank into the couch as if it were sucking him in. "Are you all right?" Shepard asked with some alarm.

He nodded. "Yeah. Just... not all better yet."

She checked the time. "Ready for more meds? I mean... you can do it yourself if you'd rather."

"No, I think you have a better angle."

She nodded and fetched the injectors. She remembered the intimacy of the last time she'd done this and swallowed, her heart speeding up a notch. _Stay calm_, she told herself. _You've done this before. It's not a big deal_. She delivered the first spray to the offered arm without a hitch, but the pounding of her heart sped up further as she took the half step closer necessary to administer the remaining two sprays to his neck. And this time Garrus was looking at her, with a slight tilt to his mandibles that she thought might be wry. "Problem?" he asked.

"Not at all," Shepard returned, nerving herself up to it.

Garrus closed his eyes as she used the spray, two quick hisses as the medicine penetrated his skin. It only took a few seconds. She stayed in place, hesitating, before she gave in to temptation and trailed her fingers along his neck and the inside of his cowl, a slow, deliberate caress. His eyes snapped open. He reached up toward her, stroking her cheek before sliding his hand through her hair, cupping the back of her head and pulling her gently down. Her breath caught, and she went along with it, letting her eyes drift shut until she felt the hesitant touch of his mouth on hers, the plates warm, firm, a little flexible, suede-like except for the roughness of the old scars on one side. She returned the kiss with enthusiasm, chasing hesitation away. The giddy smile came back as they broke apart. "You remembered how," she murmured.

He coughed, looking almost embarrassed. "Yeah. I wanted to see if—"

She cut him off with another kiss, stopping only when her omni-tool chimed. "The kids will be home soon. What do you want them to know?"

Garrus considered. "I'd rather stay discreet until we sort things out, if that's all right with you. I don't want to confuse them if we change our minds later."

Shepard nodded. "Makes sense."

By the time the door opened, the two of them were sitting a decorous distance apart. Both of the kids seemed cheerful, happy to report on their day; Shepard watched Lexa sit next to her dad, looking relieved that he was up, and watched David play with Rusty on the floor. She could get used to this, she realized with a smile.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: **Sorry for missing a week. The story needed a bit of thinking-time.

* * *

The thing about having children was that privacy was hard to come by. Worse than on a frigate, even. And all four of them staying in a space which was intended for two meant that the children were underfoot most of the time they were home. On top of that, Garrus was still convalescing, which meant he was sleeping a lot of each day. Shepard told herself it was good practice. If Garrus was worried that they wouldn't be able to handle everyday life together, well, this was the perfect test, wasn't it?

So she continued to sleep on the couch, even though she woke up each morning with her hips and back aching and stiff. When the children weren't at home and both of them were awake, they still took things slowly. Most of the time, they simply talked. Not even very serious talk, just ordinary conversation. There was a certain amount of kissing and other exploration, but clothes stayed on. It was better that way, Shepard told herself; they had plenty of time, after all, no life-or-death encounters to prepare for, and Garrus didn't have a lot of energy to spare. Going slowly was just fine, for now.

On the second day, Shepard gathered up her courage. She dug out her notes from her call with Tali some weeks earlier, and made a fresh attempt at cooking dextro-based cuisine. Her first attempt had been interrupted the night Lexa was upset about her mother, and Shepard had quietly put the results away. She wasn't sure they'd come out right, anyway. All of the ingredients were unfamiliar to her, several of them with strange colors or textures, and it was weird when she couldn't taste as she cooked... or rather, she could taste, it wasn't as if she were allergic, but she had no idea how anything was supposed to taste, or whether turians even tasted the same flavors that she did. She waited until Garrus had gone into his room to rest before pulling the appropriate ingredients out of the cupboards and refrigerator. "Lexa, can you do me a favor?"

The girl looked up from her homework. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I'm making dinner," Shepard explained. "It's a surprise for your dad, so let's keep this quiet, okay?"

Lexa nodded eagerly, eyes wide. Having a taster helped a lot. The finished meal still looked peculiar from Shepard's point of view—turian dietary needs just weren't quite the same as human—but she had the pleasure of seeing Garrus at a loss for words. He and Lexa both ate the meal with enthusiasm, so she counted the whole experience as a win.

On the third day, Garrus went into his office to check his messages and came out two hours later looking exhausted. "You weren't supposed to go back to work for six days," Shepard reminded him.

"You're one to talk," he said, sinking into the couch. "I won't go into the office, but you wouldn't believe how many messages racked up in the last couple days."

"Try me."

He closed his eyes, tipping his head back. "Over two hundred."

Shepard raised her eyebrows. "What the hell for?"

He grinned, mandibles flaring, without opening his eyes. "Oh, you know. Reports from everywhere. There are some situations in the outlying colonies I'm monitoring. The councilor likes to ask me about things that aren't technically my remit. I think a good thirty of the messages were from him."

"In three days?"

Garrus shrugged. "Apparently."

It occurred to Shepard that, while she knew Garrus was on the councilor's advising staff, he might be a bit more highly placed than she'd realized. He seldom said much about his work, and it hadn't particularly occurred to her to wonder. "Garrus, what exactly is your job?"

"I think my official title is advisor for diplomatic affairs. Doesn't stop him from consulting me about military or colonial affairs, for some reason."

"Diplomatic?" Shepard asked after a moment.

He finally opened his eyes. "Ironic, don't you think? Between you and me, I think it's mostly because Wrex will talk to me."

"Don't sell yourself short," Shepard said, doing a little mental calculation of her own. "Just how close are you to being the next councilor?"

He shuddered, theatrically. "Far too close, if I have anything to say about it."

"And do you have anything to say about it?"

He put an arm around her shoulders and nuzzled the side of her head. It was an obvious distraction, but she decided to let him get away with it.

On the fourth day, David and Lexa had a spat. Lexa proclaimed she wanted her room to herself; David protested his eviction by bouncing a ball off her door until Lexa emerged to shout at him and Shepard caught them. She hauled David off for a lecture on manners and privacy, while Garrus disappeared into Lexa's room, saying something about politeness to guests. Both children were sullen for the rest of the evening, and David brought his sleeping bag out into the living room to sleep on the floor next to Shepard's couch that night.

"Well," said Shepard once she'd shooed the kids off to school the next morning. "That was..."

Garrus sighed. "I suppose we're a little crowded here. Sorry about that."

"No need for you to apologize." Shepard bit her lip, considering. "They're both used to being the only kid in the house."

"True. I can probably manage without you, if you'd like to get back to your own place."

Shepard hesitated. There was a certain appeal to the notion of her own bed and her own home, plus not having to deal with two cranky children and an increasingly restless dog. Garrus still didn't look 100% to her, though, so she hated to leave him to fend for himself. "Maybe we should see how you're doing tomorrow?" she suggested.

The kids seemed to have patched things up by the time they came home from school, though, and the evening was tranquil enough, so Shepard breathed a sigh of relief.

By the sixth day, Garrus was clearly feeling much better, and spent a portion of the day holed up in his office fielding calls from work. Shepard began to pack up her things and David's. When Garrus finally emerged, he looked tired, but not as bone-weary as he had earlier in the week. "You're getting ready to go?"

"It seemed like it might be time. Tonight?" Carefully, Shepard stretched out her stiff back. "Can't say I won't enjoy getting back to my own bed."

"Getting soft," Garrus teased.

Shepard tensed slightly and changed the subject. "Do you want to get together sometime before next weekend?" It was already approaching the end of the current week.

"Definitely. Though..." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm likely to be catching up on work for the next couple of days. Can we set something up a little later?"

"Sure. Don't work too hard, or you'll be sick again."

"Yes, Dr. Shepard," he said, but he was smiling.

#

The apartment seemed very big and quiet and empty with only her and Dad around. Lexa was glad Dad was better, but now he was working and she wasn't supposed to bother him. She sighed. She thought her sigh made an echo, and sighed a little louder to be sure.

"What's the matter, Lex?" Dad called from his office.

She wandered over and fidgeted outside the office door. "I'm bored. There's nothing to do."

"You have a room full of toys and an extranet connection. There can't possibly be nothing to do."

"I don't want to do that stuff right now." Lexa wriggled her toes against the smooth tile floor. Mom had always been better at finding something fun to do, but she would never say that out loud. She'd told Dad something like that just once, and he hadn't said anything, but he'd had a look on his face that made her not want to say that ever again. Especially now that he seemed happier again, even with being sick. "It's more fun to play with David."

David and his mom had gone home the night before. There wasn't any school today and she'd already done her homework—well, most of it—some of it, enough for one day. There was another whole day before school again, after all. David's mom had given her a hug before they left and said she'd see them again soon, so maybe that would be all right. Hugs from humans felt different, but nice.

Dad turned his chair so he could look at her. "Two days ago you were complaining that David was in your room all the time."

"That was different."

"How was it different?"

He actually seemed to want to know, so Lexa thought about it. "I don't know. I like having space to myself, but it's nice to have someone else around to play with, too."

"Hmm," Dad said.

Lexa waited hopefully for something more, but Dad looked back at his work. She fidgeted in place and sighed again.

"Lex, I'm sure you can find something to do."

"But I don't know what I want to do."

"Well, I can't tell you what you want to do."

"We didn't have a shooting lesson this week," she pointed out, hopeful. "Or last week."

Dad turned around again. "I know. I'm sorry, but I don't have time for that right now. I have a lot of messages to deal with here."

"Maybe tomorrow?"

"Maybe, but I'm making no promises."

"Can I help?" she asked quickly, before he could turn back to the console.

Dad laughed. "Sorry, sweetheart, you don't have the security clearance for these." He gave her a thoughtful look. "You really must be bored."

"That's what I told you!"

"Why don't you draw something? I haven't seen you draw anything lately."

"Okay!" That was actually a good idea. Lexa ran back to her room. She had to search a bit for her paper and pencils; they'd gotten buried under her kite. That gave her an idea. She sat down at the table and settled to work. She started with Dad; that was easy, she knew how to draw turians. Humans were trickier, with their funny smooth faces. It took her a couple of tries before she got a result she thought was okay, and then there was Rusty, who was even harder. How were you supposed to draw all that fur, anyway? She used a lot of the yellow and brown pencils, more than she usually would. It was nice to use some different colors than usual; her gray and blue pencils were awfully worn down.

Finally finished, Lexa sat back in the chair. It was pretty good considering she hadn't done a real drawing all week. Maybe two weeks, even. She'd tried really hard to make the human hair come out right. She wished there was someone else around to show it to. Maybe it would be okay to talk to Dad again. She picked up the picture and cautiously headed over to the office. "Dad?"

"Hey, Lex." She was pleased and surprised when he turned around right away. "You've been busy for a while."

"Uh-huh. Look what I made."

Dad reached out for the paper and Lexa went into the office, leaning against his shoulder so she could tell him about it. "See, it's from when we went to the park that time. There's my kite, and there's David's kite, and there's all of us."

"I see that." He put an arm around her shoulders. "This looks really good. Why did you put us in that order?"

She'd done her and Dad and David's mom and David and Rusty, lined up, hand in hand, except for Rusty, of course. She shrugged. "I don't know, it just looked right that way. David and I had the kites, so we had to be on the ends of the line. Do you think I got the hair right? Humans are kind of hard to draw."

"It looks fine to me. I bet you'd get better with practice, but we can ask them what they think if you want."

"Can we? We could go over and show them right now."

Dad chuckled a little. "I was thinking I could send them a copy."

"Oh. That's okay, too."

Dad's grip tightened a little bit. "I thought you'd be glad to have some time to yourself, after having visitors all week."

"Well..." Lexa scratched at her mandible. "I don't know, it wasn't like having regular visitors." Sometimes, when they'd lived on Palaven, her cousins or friends had come to visit and that wasn't the same, usually she was glad to have her space back after. It was always comfortable to have David and his mom around, or to be at their house. It was funny since they weren't turian, though. She didn't know how to explain it. "I can always have fun with David and his mom is really nice."

"Hm." Dad looked at the drawing for another moment. "We might be seeing them more often. Would that be all right?"

"Yes! Yes yes yes." Lexa bounced, wriggling out of Dad's hold. "When can we? Can they come back and spend the night again? Or we could go there?"

"I'll talk to Shepard about it." Dad was watching her. "You really do like the idea, don't you?"

Lexa blinked at him. "Yes? Why? Shouldn't I?"

He looked down, and for a moment Lexa thought he didn't know what to say next. "Well, I... wasn't sure what you'd think if things changed."

She frowned, not sure what to make of that. "Changed how?"

"Just..." Dad sighed. "I like Shepard a lot, and we thought we'd like to spend more time together. That means you and David seeing each other more, too."

"Okay..." said Lexa, not sure why any of that would be a problem. "Like when they were here all the time?"

"Maybe. Eventually." He gave her a long look. "It might not be fun all the time. You and David had a fight, remember?"

"Only one time." Lexa thought. "Maybe if we each had our own room?"

"That would probably help," Dad agreed. "But then we definitely wouldn't be living in this apartment."

Lexa tried to decide how she felt about that. They hadn't lived here very long, but she liked her room, and Dad had let her pick out the furniture and stuff. "I don't know. I like it here, but I liked having them here, too."

Dad held out his hand, and she went back to leaning up against him. "Well, you thought the idea of seeing them more often sounded all right, didn't you?"

"Yes." She was sure about that much, at least.

"Let's see how things go, then. You don't have to decide how you feel about everything right now. You can always tell me later, good or bad."

That made sense. "Okay."

Dad looked at the picture again, and Lexa realized something. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Can we have dinner now? I'm getting hungry."

"Sure." He gave her one last squeeze. "Let's just send them the picture and then we'll go see what there is to eat."


	18. Chapter 18

"Is that your dad?" Renira asked.

David stared at the young asari with surprise before looking at where she pointed. Huh. Garrus had come to school to get Lexa today. He was over on the side of the playground, bent down and listening while Lexa bounced up and down, waving her hands. He looked back at Renira and frowned. He knew her mostly from his biotics class, and it was hard to tell how old she was. She was skinny and shorter than he was—if she were human, he'd guess she was maybe eight or nine—but how could you tell with asari, really? Sometimes she acted all wise and experienced, and sometimes she did dumb little-kid stuff. There was some chance Renira didn't totally understand that everyone else's biology was different from asari. "No," he explained carefully. "I'm human. My mom is human, and so was my dad. Garrus is just a friend. Why would you think he's my dad?"

Renira blinked her big blue eyes at him. "Oh. But you and Lexa are together a lot, and she said you were staying at her house."

"That was just 'cause he was sick last week."

"Oh."

Before Renira could ask any other silly questions, Lexa herself interrupted them. "David!"

"Hey, Lexa." They'd mostly been working in different groups in school that day, so he hadn't seen her much. They'd talked a little at lunch. In some ways it was kind of nice to have a break. Lexa was probably his best friend, and she was definitely the most fun to play games with, but they had been together all the time while her dad was sick. "What's up?"

"Dad says we can go to the shooting range! We haven't practiced in forever. Do you want to come?"

David brightened right away. It had been probably two weeks since they went to the range. "Yeah! If that's really okay," he added hastily, as Garrus came up behind Lexa.

"Sure," he said, sounding a lot less raspy than he had the last time David had seen him. "Check in with your mom if you want, but I did mention it to her earlier today."

He opened up his omni-tool and sent Mom a quick message. He got a reply a few minutes later.

_Sure, honey, have a good time. See if they want to come over for dinner afterward?_

_Okay_, he sent in response. "She says it's fine and asks if you want to come for dinner."

"Can we?" asked Lexa.

"Sure," Garrus said. He glanced at David. "If it's all right with you, David."

David hesitated for a brief moment. Garrus had made Mom cry that one time, he was sure of it. But she'd told him not to be mad about it, and Garrus had always been nice to him. He was funny and way more relaxed than most turians—there was a turian math teacher in the upper grades at school that everyone said was a nightmare—and David was also pretty sure Garrus had said something to Mom, or she'd never have let up and let him learn to shoot. And Mom had seemed perfectly fine ever since they'd been home. "Yeah," he said. "Sure."

They took the rapid transit to the shooting range they used. In the car, Lexa nudged him with an elbow. "Did you see my picture? Dad said he sent it a couple days ago, and your mom said she liked it, but you never said anything."

It was a lot better than he could draw, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He gave her a big frown. "My hair doesn't look like that, Lexa."

She scowled back. "Well, you try it! Humans are hard."

"Humans are easy, it's you turians that are weird."

"Are not!"

"Are too! You've got all those... points... and..." He stuck his hands on either side of his jaw to mimic mandibles. "... flappy bits."

Lexa broke up into giggles. "You've got flappy bits, too!" She reached out and touched his hair.

"My hair doesn't flap," he retorted. It was true. His hair was getting a little long, maybe, but it was too curly and tight to his head to flop around like straight hair did.

"Well, some humans have flappy hair. It's weird."

"If I might interject," said Garrus, "it seems like a matter of perspective." He was laughing, too, a little, so David thought it was all right, and anyway they'd arrived.

He started by inspecting, disassembling, and reassembling his borrowed rifle, like always. He got a nod of approval for that, which was always nice. He was a little out of practice, so his first few shots were a little rough, but then Garrus gave him some tips on adjusting a few things. He ended up having a pretty good session; he hadn't forgotten much from the last time. "Good job," Garrus told him, as they packed the rifles away at the end. "You're improving."

David straightened up. Garrus was never harsh about correction, but he also never gave praise that wasn't earned. "Thanks. I'm trying."

Garrus clapped him on the shoulder. "Keep at it, and you'll get where you want to be."

David grinned to himself, and the good feeling stayed with him all the way through dinner.

* * *

Two weeks, Shepard reflected. It had been not quite two weeks since she and David had come home. It had been nice to get back to her own space and her own routine.

But the routine wasn't quite the same. For the first few days, Garrus had been, as he'd warned, buried in work, catching up on messages and reports. He'd surfaced about the middle of the week, taken the kids to the shooting range after school, and they'd all come over for dinner. Since then, the routine had been more quietly shaken up. Sometimes Lexa came home with David after school. Sometimes Garrus brought takeout when he came over to pick her up. She and he had exchanged messages more often, and called at least once a day, even if they didn't see each other. Even with all that contact, David had asked if Lexa could sleep over this weekend, and it wasn't much of a sacrifice for Shepard to agree. It was... cozy, and it all left her with the feeling that things had changed, irrevocably. She wasn't sure if they could go back, after all, and the thought made her heart beat faster. She'd saved Lexa's drawing and looked at it almost every day. Lexa seemed to see them as a family already, which was exciting if a little frightening. With all that the kid had been through already, Shepard didn't want to screw anything up for her. Or David. She understood the worries Garrus had, far more than she had when he'd first mentioned them.

If Garrus was still worried, he wasn't showing it. He'd seemed relaxed, comfortable and joking with both of the kids, recovering well from his illness. The two of them hadn't had a lot of time alone together—stolen moments while the kids were in the bedroom playing games or doing homework, that was all—but sometimes, even in the midst of something innocent like dinner, he'd look up and their eyes would meet, and a spark of something jolted through her. There was... maybe it was her imagination, but she felt an undercurrent now running between them, warm and alive. She hoped the kids didn't notice. She didn't think so; they were a little young for it, after all. For herself, she was becoming increasingly aware that it had been years since she'd been intimate with anyone. Years since she'd had anything other than a casual hug from her son or a friend, in fact. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed touching and being touched. The subtle touches and quiet kisses they'd managed so far were only making her want more.

She'd pointed out to Garrus, when the sleepover was proposed, that her apartment, unlike his, had a guest room. One that shared a bathroom with her own bedroom, and was therefore about as discreet as they could ask for. "Interesting," Garrus had drawled, and had brought an overnight bag for himself as well as Lexa.

By now it was late enough that they'd packed the kids off to bed, and Shepard settled on the couch next to Garrus, her heart pounding. In theory, they were watching a vid. In reality, she was paying far less attention to the screen than she was to the warmth of his body next to her. No longer fever-hot, but still warmer than human average. She leaned against his side, letting his heat seep into her from shoulder to knee, and slid her arm around his back. Low, where the breadth of his shoulders and cowl began to narrow, just brushing the softer, more flexible zone of his waist.

First move.

She felt his muscles tense under her touch. His gaze didn't move from the screen, but his arm, casually stretched across the back of the couch, slid down behind her, drawing her closer, his hand finding a gentle grip on the curve of her hip.

Second move.

She turned her head into his shoulder, leaned until she could kiss the side of his neck, warm and rough with scars; Garrus nudged her until she lifted her face, drawing her into a long, deep kiss. She lost track of which move was whose, twisting so she could more easily reach across him with her free hand, running her fingers up the ridge of his cowl, tugging on the catches of his shirt. He pulled at her shirt, his fingers sliding up beneath it, the startling touch on her bare skin sending almost electric thrills up her spine...

"Mom?"

Shepard breathed out a curse, and Garrus started laughing. Quietly, but hard enough to shake his whole body against her. "It could just as easily be _your_ kid," she whispered furiously.

"I know," he whispered back.

"Mom!"

Shepard hauled herself off the couch and tugged her shirt back into place before David could come out looking for her, marching over to his door. "What is it?"

She could just see David's face against the pillow. "Can I have another cookie?" he asked. Lexa, stretched out on the floor in her sleeping bag, giggled.

Shepard's eyes narrowed, though she doubted her son could see her expression, backlit in the doorway as she was. "No. You already had dessert, and you're supposed to be going to sleep."

"Can I have a glass of water, then?"

Shepard went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, two ice cubes, the way he usually liked it. David accepted it from her eagerly. "Do you need anything, Lexa?" she asked while David gulped down half of the water.

"No, ma'am."

"Good night, then, both of you. And go to sleep."

They both piped up with "good night," not quite in harmony, as Shepard shut the door and returned to the living room, where Garrus was now lounging, both arms spread along the back of the couch, watching the screen with apparent interest.

"You know," he said, "this is actually a very interesting vid."

She stopped, planting her hands on her hips. "How interesting?"

"_Really_ interesting. I think the drell detective is about to figure out the murderer was really the asari barmaid all along."

"Uh-huh." She approached, deliberately blocking his view of the screen. "You sure there isn't something more interesting in the room?"

"That's hard to imagine," he said, leaning to the side so he could peer around her.

She stepped forward until their legs bumped together and leaned over to plant her hands on his shoulders. Garrus straightened up, giving her a sly grin. Shepard said, keeping her voice low, "I can imagine quite a few things more interesting, myself."

"Hm." His hands rose to her hips, and he eased her down onto his lap. She went willingly, draping her arms around his cowl. He leaned forward, brushing his cheek against hers. "And just what did you have in mind?" he murmured, voice rumbling in her ear, warm breath washing across her neck. Shepard shivered and closed her eyes.

"I think—" she said, and muffled a gasp as he did something _very pleasant_ with his tongue. "You could... just keep doing that... _oh_." She lost track of words a little as he obliged, with a chuckle that vibrated against her skin; she let her hands wander, but she was far more distracted by what Garrus was doing. His hands crept under her shirt again—yes, that was good—blunted talons trailing lightly up her spine before he shifted around and his thumbs stroked over her breasts. A dull sensation, through her bra, but the promise of more made her lean in a little, her own fingers on his neck—

Garrus whispered, "You feel different," and Shepard froze.

He noticed her tense immediately. "Shepard?"

"Different how?" she asked, pulling away. He released her without any resistance, and part of her was grateful even as another part, deep down, pathetically longed for him to just hold on. "Different—good, bad?" Every time she'd frowned at the mirror at her scars, or the softness of her belly and thighs, flooded back into her mind, even though she knew she was being ridiculous. She forced out a nervous laugh. "I mean, I don't— I know it's been a while—" She scooted backward, off his lap, much too restless to stay put while she waited for some kind of response.

"Shepard. What's wrong?"

"I—" It was her turn to pace around her living room, trying to keep her voice low so they didn't attract the children's attention. "I know I've put on weight, and I'm not in the same kind of shape I used to be." She hated her insecurity, but her mind was still ticking off all the ways she was _different_, and not in good ways—different from the marine she had been, even more different from a turian. Softer. Fatter. Less muscle tone. More scars. She knew she was babbling, and that the pitch of her voice was rising, but she couldn't stop it. "I've been out of action for so long, and I never completely recovered, and I— being pregnant changes the body—"

"Renee."

The sound of her first name cut through her anxiety, and she fell silent.

Garrus had gotten up and was giving her a level look beneath lowered brow plates. "I wasn't trying to upset you. I didn't realize I'd struck a nerve."

She took a breath and expelled it, trying to settle her nerves. "I'm not what I was, Garrus."

"None of us are," he told her, perfectly serious.

She took another deep breath and let him approach. He moved cautiously, as if trying to soothe a wounded animal. Maybe he wasn't too far wrong. She stayed, forcibly quelling the part of her mind that told her she had to be inadequate, unattractive, older and weaker and rounder than his Commander. "You still look about the same," she said, trying to make light of it. She doubted she was doing a very good job.

"Ah," he said lightly. "If you look hard, you might notice some differences."

She swallowed, still breathing carefully to calm herself. "You'll have to show me."

"Any time."

She took the last step herself, closing the distance between them, and let him pull her into a loose embrace, gentle at first, but firmer as she returned it. Slow, deep breaths, she told herself, to dispel the last of the tension from her body. Every breath she took in was full of his scent, which somehow still reminded her of guns and armor polish. Every moment they stood there, she became more aware of the rhythm of his heart, the warmth of his body, and the fact that beneath her ebbing panic remained a dull throb of arousal.

"Maybe we should take this to the bedroom," she said, muffled into his shoulder.

"If you like. There's no rush."

She reminded herself, again, that they had the luxury of time, and in the same breath decided she didn't want to wait any longer.

There were old scars. Those she remembered. She found the newer scars, tracing them with her fingers, as he found hers. She found they couldn't just rely on remembering what used to work; they had to adapt to keep pressure off her bad hip. But everything _still_ worked; every touch of skin on skin drew a reaction, ignited a rush of longing that drowned her fears. In the end, he chased away every doubt she'd had that he could want her, and she returned the favor as fervently as she knew how.

"Want me to move into the spare bedroom?" Garrus murmured, afterward.

Shepard nestled closer into the circle of his arms, unwilling to give up the warmth and closeness. "David doesn't usually burst in first thing in the morning."

"Nor Lexa, but I didn't know if you'd want to risk it."

She sighed. "In a little bit, maybe."

"Fine by me." His arm tightened around her. "Don't really want to go anywhere right now."

She agreed, and let herself relax into the embrace.

* * *

**Author's Note:** It will probably be two weeks until the next update, maybe a bit longer, as I'll be on vacation.


	19. Chapter 19

They didn't get caught.

Shepard woke up in the morning alone in her bed. The sheets were still rumpled beside her, though, which told her it hadn't been simply a dream. Garrus must have gotten up while she was asleep and slipped into the guest room without her knowing. That gave her a moment's pause; she was usually a lighter sleeper than that, wasn't she? But... well. It hadn't been a typical night, had it?

She had a certain amount of unaccustomed soreness, but much of it worked itself out with her usual morning stretches. She made her way into the kitchen and found Garrus already up, making breakfast for Lexa in slightly frayed civvies, while David munched his way through a bowl of cereal. Shepard stopped short. "I didn't realize all of you were up."

"Morning, Mom," David said, and Lexa chirped, "Morning!" as well.

Garrus offered a smile, no more than a quick flick of his mandibles. "Good morning, Shepard. I thought you could use the sleep."

"Well... thanks," she said, a little flustered. It was true, she'd slept soundly, endorphins chasing her into a deeper state of relaxation than usual. She felt as though she were wearing a banner than said _got laid last night_, but fortunately it seemed invisible to the children.

"No problem," Garrus said. "Can I get you some breakfast? I think I can manage eggs, if you want."

Shepard raised her eyebrows. "You sure about that?"

Another slight flickering grin. "Sure. I think I've picked up a thing or two. Just pretend I'm James." His voice pitched into a mimicry of the other man. "'Eggs? Anybody?'"

Lexa giggled. "I'd rather you be you," Shepard blurted before she thought.

Garrus's expression went startled and still. "Oh," he said. "That's... good to know." He shook himself slightly. "So what would you like for breakfast?"

It was a lazy weekend; they took Rusty out for a long walk in the park. Garrus and Lexa didn't stay over the second night—although Shepard was tempted to propose it—but he called up the next morning and asked if she and David wanted to come over for lunch, which they did. Afterward, both of the kids settled down with their homework. Shepard hoped that might give her and Garrus time to talk, but in the end both children needed some help with math. She got out a book, but she found herself watching as Garrus worked patiently with the two of them.

The whole following week passed in something of a blur. The usual round of school and biotics lessons, plus Garrus took the kids to the shooting range twice, plus David suddenly remembered a project on Earth history he'd been forgetting about, leading to a frantic scramble to gather materials for the model he was supposed to build. On top of that, a minor crisis erupted in her work routine; with various skirmishes going on out in the Terminus systems, Shepard spent a day combing through intelligence reports until her eyes felt like sand and her back ached. She was blearily rubbing her eyes and realizing that it was nearly time for dinner when the doorbell chimed, and a moment later the door simply opened. "Hey, Shepard," Garrus called. "I brought food."

She pushed herself out of the chair and made her way stiffly out of the office. "What?"

He and Lexa were already depositing bags full of white cartons on her kitchen counter. Half of them were releasing aromas that made her mouth water. "David said you'd been working hard all day, so I thought I'd save you the work," Garrus said. He gave her a sharp once-over. "You okay?"

She put on a smile and braced her hands against her lower back, carefully stretching out the tension. "Just been sitting too long, I think."

He nodded and went back to unpacking the meal. Shepard stood in the doorway, trying to ease out the aches. She caught David when he emerged from his room a few minutes later. "You called them over?"

He shrugged, looking sheepish. "I didn't really do anything, I just mentioned to Lexa you'd been busy all afternoon."

She gave him a hug even though he squirmed. "Thanks, honey."

* * *

Garrus kept an eye on Shepard throughout the meal; she seemed cheerful enough, but held herself stiffly, and more than once he saw her wincing as she shifted position. Once they'd finished, he asked Lexa and David to put the leftovers away, in exchange for watching vids afterward, and offered Shepard a hand.

"I'm all right," she said, but accepted the support to lever herself out of the chair.

"I'm sure you are," he agreed. "I'm sure you wouldn't have any interest in a back rub, either."

She let out a tiny groan at the mere suggestion. "Okay, I'm not going to say no to that."

Garrus grinned. "I didn't think so."

He went slowly and carefully. He could easily feel the knots of tension in the muscles of her back and legs, but he also didn't want to aggravate any of her old injuries. Shepard seemed content to bury herself face-first in the bed and direct him by means of sighs and the occasional soft moan.

"Better?" he asked after a while.

"Mm-hm." Shepard rolled over, with a certain amount of effort, took hold of his collar, and tugged his head down for a kiss. A long one, her soft wet tongue exploring his mouth almost languidly. "Thank you," she said when they broke apart.

He took a deep breath to settle himself. She looked a lot more relaxed, her hair spread out in a mass of dark braids on the covers and her eyes shining. "Any time. I live to serve."

She snorted, still smiling. "Stay the night?"

He hesitated for a moment. He'd half-hoped, but... "The kids have school in the morning."

She wrinkled her nose. It was absurdly cute; he wanted to nuzzle against it until she started laughing. "I know, I know. It's probably stupid. I just... want you. Here."

It nearly took his breath away. He tilted his head until his brow rested against hers. "Thought you weren't feeling good."

"I feel better, thanks to a certain someone." Her free hand wandered along his neck. Garrus shivered at the sensation.

"I brought an overnight bag," he admitted.

Her smile widened. "Glad you planned ahead."

* * *

It was weird to have a sleepover in the middle of the week, and not quite as much fun, because Mom and Garrus both insisted on normal bedtimes instead of letting them stay up later with vids or games. Lexa still got to sleep on his floor, though. They'd turned the lights out and David was starting to drift off when Lexa said, "Hss. Hey, David."

"Hey, what?"

"I've been thinking."

He rolled over. He could barely make out her outline in the dim light. "Thinking about what?"

"You don't have a dad, and I don't have a mom. So maybe your mom and my dad should get together."

David frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"It would be fun!" Her sleeping bag rustled and suddenly her face was only inches away, peering over the edge of his mattress. "Like, tonight was fun, right, and last weekend?"

"Yeah," he admitted. Plus, he could tell Mom wasn't feeling good tonight, and it was kind of nice to have someone else around to help her. He tried to help, but she didn't like letting on how she felt to him. Having other people around meant he didn't have to do all the chores himself, too.

"So it would be even better. We might have to live somewhere else though, so we could each have our own room."

David considered that. "You could live here and stay in my room."

He could just barely see her brow plates tilt down into a scowl. "I want my own room."

He relented. "Okay. That sounds pretty good. We could all live together. But wouldn't they have to... I don't know, date, or something?"

Lexa shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

David thought about that. "Maybe they wouldn't even... you know... like each other like that?" He wasn't entirely sure what dating people did. He saw it sometimes in the boring parts of vids. There seemed to be a lot of dressing up and going places. Mom and Garrus definitely hadn't been doing that.

"Dad said he liked your mom a lot."

"Huh. Really?"

"Yes. He said we might spend more time together, and look, we _have_ been." Lexa paused for a moment, tilting her head to the side. "I think he's been happier lately." She sounded a little wistful.

It made David think. Had Mom seemed happier lately, too? Maybe. She didn't exactly seem unhappy most of the time. But she'd laughed a lot more since they started having Garrus and Lexa around. "Maybe you're right," he said after a while.

"Do you think we should help?" Lexa asked.

"I dunno, they're grown-ups, they should be able to figure things out on their own, right?"

"Hmm," she said. "Maybe."

"Maybe we should just keep an eye on them for now. Like a re- uh, reconnaissance kind of thing."

"Good idea!" Lexa bounced in place, which made his whole mattress jiggle. "Maybe we should go look at them right now!"

"I don't know—" David started to say, but fell silent as he heard footsteps outside the door.

"Lex. David." It was Garrus's voice. "Quiet down and go to sleep. You've got school in the morning."

He sounded stern, but David wondered if it was more than that when Lexa hunched her shoulders and withdrew to her sleeping bag. "Sorry, Dad."

"Sorry," David echoed.

"Good night, you two."

They both mumbled good night. A minute later, Lexa whispered, "Maybe not right now."

"Yeah," he whispered back.

* * *

Usually Shepard woke up a little stiff and sore. That morning, she woke up a few minutes before the alarm went off, and when she turned over, pain exploded out of her hip, extending through her pelvis and down her left leg. Oh. It was going to be one of _those_ days. She groaned, feeling as though she was aware of every pin and bit of synthetic holding her bones and joints together. She stretched cautiously and groaned again.

"Shepard?"

When she looked up, she found Garrus silhouetted in the doorway to the bathroom. There was clear tension in his voice when he said, "What's wrong?"

For a moment she tried to figure out what he was doing there. The pain made her head fuzzy. The bathroom joined her room to the guest room, and... right. He'd stayed over; that was a most pleasant part of her memories.

Actually, it was convenient that he was here. "Could you bring me some painkillers? The green bottle in the medicine cabinet."

He nodded, and a moment later approached with the bottle and a glass of water in hand. Shepard propped herself into a sitting position—carefully—opened the bottle, and took two of the pills. These were the heavy-duty medication she only used when things got bad. She swallowed them down, drained the glass of water, and flopped back into the pillows, waiting for the drug to take its effect.

"Do you need anything else?" Garrus asked. This time his tone was carefully controlled.

Shepard replied, "No, just give me a minute or two."

He made a wordless noise of assent. Shepard looked up. His mandibles were twitching slightly and his gaze was intent on her. "Go ahead," she said, resigned. They'd hadn't talked about her injuries in much detail until now."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "I can practically see the questions on your face. Go ahead and ask."

His left mandible flickered. After a moment, he said, "I've just never seen you like this before."

She tried to think back, whether any of her injuries before the end of the war had left her in similar condition. She couldn't think of a single case. She'd taken her share of wounds, sure, but she'd recovered quickly back then. Especially once Cerberus had filled her with implants. "Yeah, well," she said. "Now I'm getting old." Somehow it didn't come out in a joking tone.

"Not too old, I hope," he said. That didn't sound like a joke, either. He cleared his throat. "Is it something we, uh, did last night?"

Oh. No wonder he was worried. "No, I don't think so. I think I overdid it with work—too much stress and not enough moving around."

Garrus nodded, his expression relaxing slightly.

The pain began to ebb. Shepard cautiously stretched her limbs again and pushed herself back into a sitting position. Okay. She could get around if she had to. Not comfortably, but she could do it. "Could you hand me that cane?" she asked. "Over there, behind the door." Like the pills, she used the cane rarely, but this was definitely going to be a day she needed it.

He went to get it, but said, "I could give you a hand—"

"No," she said, a little sharply. It was a thousand times better to lean on an object rather than tie another person down. "I'm going to need it all day," she added. "I can get around fine."

Garrus brought the cane over: plain and utilitarian, a metal rod with a non-skid base and a comfortable grip. As Shepard took it and eased herself out of bed, wincing at the pain in her bad hip, he said, "How often is this a problem?"

There was a certain tone in his voice that Shepard thought she recognized. "Not that often."

"Have you looked into treatments?"

Yep, she definitely recognized the tone. It was the air of a man faced with a problem he thought he could solve. "This _is_ treated. Look, Garrus, this is the way things are. When they put me back together after London, some parts never quite came together. I've already had four surgeries on this hip." Each surgery had knocked her out for weeks, sometimes months: time in the hospital, time at home recovering, slow and laborious therapy. Every operation had left her with lingering pain and stiffness that came and went but never entirely disappeared. Kaidan had encouraged her to keep seeking treatment, until she drew the line and told him she just couldn't take it any more. Even then, he'd been reluctant, arguing that she was giving up, until she turned the tables by asking him why he'd never had his L2 implant upgraded, even though the latest models were generally stable, powerful, and free of the side effects he'd had all his life. David had been three or so at the time, and she'd wanted to be up and around for him, not constantly bedridden from surgery.

Garrus was silent for a moment before he said, "I see."

"Do you?" Shepard straightened to her full height. "Because I want to be really clear here. I don't need you to fix me. I don't need you to run out and research new treatments. Believe me, my doctor keeps track of it. I can manage this myself. If we're going to make this work, I need a... a boyfriend, not a fixer. Give me the pills and the cane when I ask for them and help me out when things are bad. That's what I need from you."

He looked at her for a long moment, and she almost held her breath. She'd had more than enough arguments with Kaidan on this subject; she really didn't want to revisit them. She didn't have bad days that often any more—only every few months—which was all the more reason not to argue about how to handle them.

"Okay," he finally said. "Should I take the lead on getting the kids ready for school, then?"

She let out a long, slow breath, relieved. "Yeah. That would help a lot."

"Okay." He came over and gave her a brief kiss. "I'll get on that, then."

By the time she got herself cleaned up and dressed and out to the kitchen, both of the kids were dressed and having breakfast. David looked up quickly. "Mom? Are you all right?"

She limped over and gave him a quick, one-armed hug. "Just a bad day."

He nodded. He'd seen his share of her bad days.

Everything else went smoothly; the kids got out on time. As Garrus was getting ready to leave himself, Shepard said, "I'm sorry I was touchy, earlier." He looked surprised, so Shepard went on, "I didn't mean to shut you down, exactly, but I've learned how to handle my injuries and I hate it when other people are hovering around worrying about it."

His face cleared, and he nodded. "It's fine, Shepard. I didn't mean to overstep. It's very turian of you, really."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

He laughed. "Yeah. You should see my father. His mind is still sharp as anything, but he's definitely getting more frail. He hates it when anyone asks how he's doing or offers to help him get around, though."

Shepard smiled. "I hope I'm not quite that bad." She hesitated for a moment. "So... we're good?"

"Definitely. You need anything else before I go?"

"No, I've got it covered," she said. "And I'll be okay on my own today."

He came around the table and put his arms around her, leaning his head on top of hers. "Call me if you need anything."

She closed her eyes and leaned into the embrace, warm and solid. She could feel his heart beating, and it brought a smile to her face. "Will do."

* * *

Author's note: Sorry this one took a while, folks! I hope to return to a more regular update schedule from here.


	20. Chapter 20

"How are you feeling?" Garrus asked.

Shepard allowed herself a little smile. "You can stop hovering any time now, Garrus."

His mandibles flickered. "Sorry. Just... hadn't seen you like that before."

"I know." She reached for his hand and gave his gloved fingers a squeeze. "I feel better. That's why I left the cane at home."

She'd come back day by day, leading up to now, taking a trip to the park on a weekend afternoon. She was still feeling a bit stiff, but she'd gotten to the point where a walk sounded like a good way to loosen up instead of excruciating. So she and Garrus strolled sedately along the paths, while the kids and the dog ran around in the open areas, working off some excess energy. They were easily in sight, but comfortably out of earshot. The skies over the park were still picture-perfect blue, the carefully maintained shrubs and plants green; it was hard to believe that Christmas was only a few weeks away. That didn't make a difference to most of the Citadel's inhabitants, but it did mean she'd need to get organized soon.

"Listen," Garrus said, "do you think it's time to talk to the kids about..."

After a moment, she supplied: "Us?"

"Yeah."

A bit over three weeks, altogether, since they'd decided to give this a try again. A week since they'd slept together, for the... well, not the first time. And not much in the way of sleeping, either, since Garrus spent the rest of the night in the guest room. They'd said they were going to take things slowly, and she wasn't sure they'd managed it. It was strange, in a way; Shepard remembered being in combat, and she remembered that at their best—during the Reaper War, say, or parts of the Collector mission—she and Garrus had been so used to fighting together that they were perfectly in sync. Each always knew where the other was likely to be on the battlefield; she had a distinct memory of holding back from advancing on an enemy on more than one occasion, thinking to herself, _Garrus has that one_, and a moment later it would drop. She'd never had quite the same degree of synergy with any other teammate, even Kaidan. And yet now was somehow both the same and better, even though their lives were completely different. The other day she'd been in a foul mood after reading reports of some missions gone seriously awry, and out of the blue Garrus had sent her a lightly teasing message that made her laugh, and suddenly things didn't seem quite as bleak. Three weeks, and they'd gotten even more enmeshed in each other's lives. She had quickly gotten to the point where it seemed strange not to see him in a day. She chatted with Lexa about school just as she would with David. On the whole, the kids seemed to be just fine with the fact that the four of them were all spending more and more time together. She was probably as happy as she'd been in a long time, bad hip and all, and somehow, it still didn't feel like enough. It would be nice to actually sleep in the same bed. It would be nice not to have to worry that one or both of the kids would catch them at an awkward moment and require an even more difficult explanation. It would be nice to have an apartment set up for all four of them, bigger, with separate rooms for the kids. She'd gotten greedy, maybe. She'd grown up with so little—and she'd gotten used to being alone, in the last few years—she'd been contented enough with her life, but the prospect of something even better seemed almost within her grasp, tantalizing, and she felt half afraid to reach for it.

"Shepard?"

There was a quizzical note in Garrus's voice that got her attention immediately. The last thing she wanted to do was make him uncertain of her affection. Again.

"Sorry," she said quickly. She looked down at their joined hands. He was wearing his usual dark gloves, and she felt a moment's disappointment. She liked the contrast of his silvery coloring against her darker, browner skin, and liked feeling the warmth of him properly, too. Holding hands _ungloved_ would have been a shocking amount of PDA by turian standards, though; even holding hands in public was pushing it a bit. There she was again, wanting more than what she had. She shook herself and looked up to meet his eyes. "Sorry. I just... don't want to make a misstep, you know?"

His expression eased a little at her smile, but there was a little worry, she thought, a lingering tightness around his eyes. "Why? Do you think David will be unhappy?"

"I don't—" She bit her lip, considering. "I don't know. I know he likes you, but it's been just the two of us for a while."

After a moment, he said, "Hm. I can see that."

"I'm not having second thoughts about us," she said, tightening her grip so he couldn't slip away. "But I'm not sure what to say to him to make him understand. We're... dating? Involved?"

"Intimate?"

She made a face. "Really? I don't think most humans tell their kids about their sex lives. It's kind of a taboo, and the kids don't really want to know."

"Oh. It's... I don't think that came out right, Shepard. I didn't mean any... details."

She rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand, feeling foolish. "Right."

"It seems to me," he said after a moment, "that it's getting to the point where it would be a lot easier if we weren't..."

"Hiding? Yeah, you're right about that." Shepard frowned, thinking things over. "I think what concerns me is that David really... idealizes his father. I don't know what he'll think about someone else... taking his place."

"It doesn't have to be like that," Garrus said, a little stiffly. "I don't think it _can_ work like that. I'm not ever going to _replace_ his father. I'm not... I wouldn't even try."

Shepard sighed. "No, of course not. And I know he's willing to listen to you. I'm just not sure how he'll feel about this. Do you think that idea wouldn't bother Lexa? I think David would have freaked out if I'd been seeing someone seriously only a year after Kaidan died."

He hesitated for a second too long, making her eyes narrow. "I may have said something to Lexa already."

"What? Are you kidding me? She already knows?" She scowled, irritated that he hadn't mentioned this before.

"Not really. I wasn't very direct," he admitted. "I said I liked you a lot, and we might be spending more time together. She thought that was great." He gave her a brief smile, though she thought his eyes were still anxious. "She even suggested everything would work better if she and David had their own rooms."

Shepard snorted, remembering the kids' argument. "Well, she's not wrong about that." Garrus wasn't wrong, either, that they needed to go ahead and take the next step. She took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's do this. What do you think? Should we talk to them together, or separately?"

To her surprise, he turned so they were facing each other and took her other hand. "It's probably best if you talk to David and I talk to Lexa. I mean, if he's unhappy or has questions, it'll be easier if I'm not there, right?"

"Right," she said with a certain relief. When he put it that way, it seemed very clear what the right thing to do was. She's just been tying herself up in knots over it, circling around and around in her own head. "I want to suggest to him that he can talk to you about it alone, too. If he has any questions."

He nodded, quickly and easily. "Yeah. Of course. I can do that."

She smiled up at him. "I can talk to Lexa if you'd like, too."

"Sure, if she wants to."

#

"They're holding hands!" Lexa reported.

David looked up from rubbing Rusty's ears. "What?"

Lexa had her rifle scope up to one eye. He hadn't seen her carry it before. She must have had it in her pocket. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"They can't hear us from here," she said, calm and cheerful. "Don't you remember? You said we should do some recon."

He almost snickered, but she sounded serious, like they were really N7s or something. "Yeah, okay, what are they doing?"

"I told you. They've been talking, and they're definitely holding hands."

"Huh." Rusty barked when David's hands stopped moving, so he turned his attention back to the dog. "Sorry, boy."

In his peripheral vision, Lexa bounced up and down. "Holding hands. In _public_. Wait. Is that a thing humans do? Because turians don't, unless they're, you know—"

"Well, Mom used to make me hold her hand when we were out, but I don't know about other grown-ups." He frowned. He could summon up a fuzzy memory of his Mom and Dad walking along laughing, and Dad maybe had his arm around Mom. "Can I see?"

Lexa handed over the scope without any complaint. "Here, hold Rusty," he said.

Mom and Garrus _were_ holding hands, and stood half turned toward each other. He couldn't really tell what they were talking about. He could see her lips move, but he wasn't any good at lip-reading. While he watched, her expression changed several times. She looked like maybe she was thinking hard. She looked up at Garrus with a scowl, briefly. David switched to looking at him; he said something, with a brief mandible flare, and when he focused on Mom again, she was smiling.

"What are they doing?" Lexa asked, jostling his shoulder.

"Just talking. Don't bump me."

"You've had your turn, David, give me my scope back."

"In a minute," he said absently. They were facing each other now and holding both hands. Garrus had his back to them now, but he could see Mom pretty clearly. She was looking up at Garrus and smiling and looked really... he wasn't sure. Relaxed. Happy, maybe.

"David!"

"It's not really _your_ scope, it's your Dad's."

"Yes it is too mine, it's one of his old ones and he lets me use it all the time. Now give it!"

"Fine," he said, handing it over. Rusty whined, and he gave him a pat. The look on Mom's face made him feel a little funny. It wasn't... it wasn't a bad thing, he just wasn't sure how he felt about it.

#

Still smiling, Shepard said, "I also think... once we've talked to the kids and seen how they're doing, we should maybe talk to some of our friends."

Garrus blinked, surprised for a moment. "Okay. I guess that makes sense. Anyone you had in mind?"

"I think I need to talk to Tali." An expression crossed her face that he couldn't quite read.

Trying to puzzle it out, he said, "Not because she and I were..."

Shepard shook her head. "No, not that. Because she said some things to me a couple of months ago, and... anyway, yeah, I think we need to tell her. Or I do, anyway."

"Sure. Liara would be very put out if she wasn't in the loop. Assuming she doesn't already know." He made a show of looking around for Shadow Broker spies, making Shepard laugh. His omni-tool pinged.

"Do you need to get that?"

"It'll keep. That was the personal tone, not the work one."

She nodded, her brow suddenly creasing. "Is it... you and me being involved... is that going to be a problem for you at work?"

He cocked his head, puzzled again. "Why would it be?"

Her shoulders rose. "Well, I'm not turian, and it seems like you're pretty high-ranking these days, so I didn't know if it would make things complicated..."

"Meritocracy," he reminded her. "It's irrelevant. I could be doing red sand off a different prostitute every night and it wouldn't matter as long as I did my job."

Her nose wrinkled. "That's... quite a picture, Garrus."

"Mind you, Dad and Sol would be all over my case for not providing a stable environment for Lex, and Adrien would probably have a word for me, too." He shook his head. "Being involved with a human? No. Might get some personal disapproval, but even that... not so much, these days. Twenty, thirty years ago, maybe, or even fifteen. And if anyone _is_ still holding on to a Relay 314 grudge, well, you are _the_ Commander Shepard, after all."

Her smile went crooked. "Pretty much just Renee Shepard, civilian, now."

"Turians have a little trouble with the concept of 'civilian.'" He paused. "Being together won't cause any problems for you, will it?"

"I'm retired, and the Council certainly won't care."

"True enough," he agreed. He let go of her hand and turned, realizing they hadn't been paying much attention to the kids for several minutes. He spotted them quickly—thought he saw a brief glint, like a reflection, but it disappeared and Lexa waved back when he held up a hand.

"Maybe we should gather them up and think about dinner," Shepard suggested.

"Sure." He took a quick glance at his omni-tool as they started walking and broke stride for a second, surprised. Not a message from Liara, or he really _would_ have to wonder if she had eyes and ears everywhere, but not one he's expected, either.

"What's wrong?" Shepard asked.

"Nothing's wrong, exactly," Garrus said. "Apparently Sol's decided to come for a visit."

"What? When?"

"She's a little vague on that. Typical. She'd mentioned it once or twice before, but she thinks she'll be here soon. I think she'd taking a spare seat on a friend's passenger transport, when there is one, but she doesn't know which ship."

"Hm." Shepard was frowning a bit. "I don't think I've met any of your family. I suppose they should know we're involved, too, shouldn't they?"

Oh, now there was something he hadn't really thought about, and Sol and Mely had been close... "Let's... start with the kids. I think they deserve to know first."

Shepard gave him a sideways glance, but didn't press the subject, and Lexa and David came running back with the dog a few moments later.


	21. Chapter 21

Once Shepard had made up her mind, she didn't want to delay any further. She took her first good opportunity to talk to David alone: the next morning, as they were finishing up breakfast. If she was going to have a potentially fraught conversation, she'd rather have it with a rested, well-fed kid. "Honey, there's something I'd like to talk to you about."

David looked up from his last bite of cereal with wary eyes. He put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed. "Okay."

She'd thought the thing over and couldn't think of anything better than being clear and direct. "I thought you should know that Garrus and I are dating."

She watched his face carefully. His eyebrows pulled together and his lower lip stuck out for a moment: his thinking face. "Like... girlfriend and boyfriend stuff?"

"That's right."

He thought that over for a second. "Okay."

Shepard blinked. "Okay? You...what do you think about that?"

"I dunno." David looked down at the table and wriggled in his seat. "I guess I'm kinda not surprised."

Her eyebrows went up. "Really."

"Yeah. I mean...I don't know. It just made sense."

"Hm. Okay." She watched him shift in place. "It's okay to tell me how you feel about it, good or bad. Or ask me questions."

He looked up, frowning. "If I wanted you not to be dating, would you stop?"

Shepard's shoulders tightened. She had a sudden feeling of navigating through a conversational minefield, like talking to... Jack, maybe, when they'd first met and it was hard to know what might send her into a rage, or EDI, with her knack for asking innocent and utterly complicated questions. She took a deep breath. "Well, then I'd have some hard decisions to make. Because you're my son and you're the most important thing in my life, and that's not going to change, okay? You understand that?"

David's head bobbed up and down, his eyes wide.

"But Garrus and I are old friends. I care about him a lot, and it's nice to have a kind of..." She searched for the right words. "...partnership with another grown-up. We can help each other out and talk about the grown-up stuff you think is boring."

"Huh." He seemed to be thinking again. Shepard hoped that was a good thing. "Like being on the same team?"

She nodded. "Yeah. You and I are one kind of team, but grown-ups who care about each other and decide to be partners can be another kind of team. Maybe not yet, but I think someday you'll probably want that kind of partner for yourself, too." His face said he didn't quite believe her, but she pressed on. "Anyway, it would be hard to lose that. And I'm fond of Lexa, too. So, like I said, there would be some hard decisions. Is that..." Part of her didn't want to ask at all, but she forced herself to do it. "...is that something you want?"

David scrunched his face into a frown. "No. I dunno. It's just weird to think about you like somebody's girlfriend. Are you gonna get married or something?"

For some reason that question hadn't occurred to her. It surprised her into a soft chuckle. "You know what? We haven't talked about that at all. Right now, we like spending time together and we'd like to keep doing that, maybe even more than we have been."

"Okay."

She waited, but nothing else seemed to be forthcoming. "You're sure about that?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. We see them all the time anyway, right? That's fun. I like Garrus. And Lexa. I guess it doesn't sound that different?"

"I suppose it's not, in a lot of ways."

"Are we all going to live together?"

"Hm. Maybe?" Shepard laced her fingers together, watching him. "I would make a lot of things easier. But we'd have to find the right kind of place with enough space for all of us."

"Can I have a bigger room?"

She smiled. "Maybe, if we could find the right place. If you wanted to, you and I could look at the ads and see what's out there for apartments? They usually post pictures."

"Okay! Sure!" He sounded genuinely enthusiastic about that, somewhat to her surprise. "So we'd live together and Lexa and I could play all the time?"

"Well, no. You'd still have chores and schoolwork, just like now. But the rest of the time, sure. You wouldn't have to schedule a visit."

He nodded, looking thoughtful again. Shepard started to feel more hopeful about the prospects. He needed some time to get his head around how his life might change; there was nothing wrong with that. "I know it's been just you and me for a few years, and this is a change. If anything about any of this bothers you or worries you, you can talk to me about it. Garrus said you could talk to just him, too, if you wanted to ask questions, or talk about what you want things to be like between the two of you."

"Okay." David leaned back in the chair. "Mom? We can still do stuff with just the two of us, right?"

She thought she heard a bit of a quaver in his voice, and answered firmly. "Absolutely! I'm always going to be your mom, David. Of course we can do stuff that's just the two of us."

David slid off his chair and came around the table. Shepard opened her arms to meet him and got the most solid hug she'd gotten from him in a long time. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned her cheek on top of his head, enjoying it. The conversation might not have gone quite as well as she'd hoped, but it hadn't gone nearly as badly as she'd feared. Overall, she thought she could be cautiously optimistic.

* * *

They spent the rest of that day with just the two of them: a walk with the dog, watching vids on the couch, homework. She'd sent Garrus a message to give him the gist of the conversation, but she thought David could use some space and quiet time. The plan was, they'd meet up after school for a run to the store and dinner. She wasn't sure if Garrus had had his own talk with Lexa yet. Still, she was hoping they could have a cozy dinner together, and David could get used to the idea of them being more than friends.

Given how quickly her plans often went to hell, maybe she shouldn't have been surprised. Then again, civilian life was a lot more predictable. Either way, she definitely had not expected to be walking to his apartment from the transit station with him and both kids, all of them carrying grocery bags, and to be surprised by a slim, unfamiliar figure leaning casually against the wall near his door.

Shepard tensed when she saw the figure. Even knowing the area was relatively safe, part of her reacted as she might for an intruder, preparing to drop her bags and act.

But Lexa shrieked, "Aunt Sol!" and went running ahead of them.

Shepard stopped. The tall, angular turian woman unpropped herself from the wall with lazy grace, reaching out to catch her bouncing niece into a hug. As the family resemblance came into focus, Shepard blinked and shot Garrus a sideways look. "You didn't say your sister was visiting _now_."

"Because she didn't tell me," he replied, just as quietly. Clearing his throat, he took the lead, with Shepard slightly behind and David trailing after both of them, watching curiously. "Sol!" Garrus called. "You might have mentioned you were visiting, well, today."

His sister responded with a shrug. "A seat on a transport opened up just an hour before departure. Barely enough time to pack and make it to the port. I would have called, but you know how the Hierarchy is about in-transit communications. Thought I'd surprise you instead."

"I _am_ surprised," he agreed. "Surprised that you didn't just hack your way into my apartment." He shifted the load he was carrying to key open the door.

Solana's mandibles flared. "Ah. I decided not to risk C-Sec's gentle attentions."

"Funny, I thought you might just be getting lazy in your old age."

Her eyes narrowed. "Keep it up, Garrus. You're only four years younger than I am. Anything you say to me now is coming back to you with interest."

"Interest, Sol? Taking up banking, like a volus? That doesn't sound like you." Garrus stepped back and waved them in.

Solana snorted as she sauntered into the apartment and gave Shepard a glance. "Who are your friends?"

"This is my friend David," Lexa piped up. "And his mom."

"Renee Shepard," Garrus added, heading into the kitchen with his own load. "I'm sure you remember."

Solana's gaze turned unexpectedly hard. "The great Commander Shepard. Indeed. It would be hard to forget."

"I've been retired for quite a while, now," Shepard said, her nerves prickling.

Solana said nothing for a moment, regarding her with crossed arms, and then abruptly turned, surveying the apartment. "Nice place. I like what you've done with it."

"Thanks," Garrus called from the kitchen. "I'm sorry I don't have a proper guest room for you."

"I can take the couch tonight and get a hotel room tomorrow." As Shepard went into the kitchen with her own batch of groceries, she noticed Solana stop to pick up the picture frame from the table.

"You can stay in my room!" Lexa said, all but dropping her own bags in the kitchen so she could run back to her aunt.

Solana put the frame down. "That's very nice of you, Lexa, although your bed might be a bit small for me. How's your new school?"

The bustle of preparing two sets of meals for the five of them consumed the next hour or so. Solana leaned on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, sipping the glass of Palaven wine Garrus had handed her, while Lexa bounced between the two rooms, chattering to her aunt. She was much too excited and scattered to be much help with the dinner preparations. David was more helpful, though he was clearly fascinated by the turian stranger. He was also a little shy with her, though, following Lexa's lead, he offered the occasional comment about their school. Shepard kept a watchful eye on them, but Solana responded to David pleasantly enough. That was good, as Shepard didn't want to have to dismantle Garrus's sister for being cruel to her son.

Solana hardly spoke to Shepard herself throughout dinner, though. She'd listen patiently to the children, and joke with Garrus, but Shepard's efforts to make conversation fell flat. Garrus noticed, and tried to compensate, but then Solana launched on a long series of anecdotes about friends and neighbors back home, and Shepard gave up, sitting back in her chair once she'd finished eating.

After the meal, while Lexa dragged Solana off to see her room and the rest of the apartment, with David trailing after them, Shepard turned to Garrus. "What the hell was that?"

Garrus sighed, starting to clear dishes from the table. "I don't know. She can be difficult, but—"

"She's acting like I'm something she wants to scrape off her boot!"

"She might just—oh." Garrus stopped short, mandibles flicking.

Shepard crossed her arms. She could feel a tight expression cross her face. She had a strong suspicion it was her Commander face. "What?"

"She, uh. She may have found about you and me when you were under arrest and I went home."

Shepard's fingers dug into her arms. "_May_ have?"

"Well..." Garrus rubbed the side of his neck. "I was worried about you, and I was on edge, between that and the task force and Mom—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "There weren't a lot of people I could talk to about...personal things. We had a lot of things we needed to talk about, and we had a couple of late nights where, uh, we delved into Dad's liquor cabinet." He paused, looking remarkably uncomfortable. "She's my sister, Shepard. I've never been good at keeping secrets from her."

Shepard bit the inside of her cheek. She had an impulse to be irritated with him, but that was entirely irrational. Why shouldn't he have mentioned their relationship to his sister? People told their siblings stuff like that, right? Not for the first time, she cursed her own lack of family ties. Growing up on the street, all her ideas of how siblings related to each other were drawn from books and vids. The picture coming together was all too clear. Garrus had been home for the first time in years, stressed and anxious, but hopeful about their new attachment. He'd confided in Solana, and then he'd come home after the war, exhausted and alone. "Great. So she hates me because I broke your heart, huh?"

Garrus shook his head. "Shepard, you didn't—"

"Didn't I?" She looked up at the ceiling. "At least she has a good reason to hate me."

"I'll talk to her," Garrus offered.

She gave him a skeptical look. "And tell her what? I doubt she'd be thrilled to hear that we're back together, if she doesn't like how I treated you."

He winced, scratching the back of his neck. "Ah. Okay, I see your point."

"Maybe I should just stay out of the way until she goes," she said, half to herself.

Garrus frowned, drawing himself up straight. "No. Not acceptable. I'm not going to just cut you out of my life and pretend there's nothing there."

"It's just for a little while, right?" Shepard tried to sound cheerful and determined. She pushed herself to her feet. "It'll be fine. David can still come over, maybe."

He crossed his arms. "Shepard. Don't be ridiculous."

He looked imposing that way, and Shepard had a moment's thought that maybe she was seeing _his _Commander face. Under other circumstances, she would have teased him about it. In the present circumstances, she looked away and shook her head. "It's not ridiculous. She came to see you and Lexa. You'll all want to spend some time together, right? That doesn't have to have anything to do with David or me. We can...take a little break. It'll be fine."

"Shepard." His voice gentled. "We can figure something else out."

She shook her head. Her back ached, and she felt tired, unprepared to confront the other woman or explain herself. "Can we just let it go tonight? Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow."

Garrus still looked dissatisfied, but Solana emerged from Lexa's bedroom before he could say anything more. Shortly afterward Shepard collected David and his things and headed home. Wearily, she wondered how long Solana was planning to stay.


	22. Chapter 22

Lexa woke up excited. Aunt Sol was here and now Lexa could show her all her favorite places on the station. She'd have to go to school, but maybe they could go out after. To the park and the shops on the ward. Maybe Aunt Sol could help her pick out David's present for Christmas. All the human kids at school had been talking about it, so they'd had a little lesson on the history and culture of the holiday. Most of it was pretty weird—Lexa did not get the point of putting a tree in a bucket of water in the house, and getting a fake tree made even less sense—but getting something nice for your friends _did_ make sense. And she hadn't said anything about it, so David wouldn't be expecting anything from her, so it would be a surprise. Dad would help if she asked, but getting to go shopping with Aunt Sol would be even better.

She dressed quickly and bounced out into the living room. Dad and Aunt Sol were both in the kitchen, leaning back against opposite counters with steaming cups.

"I do have to be at the office today," Dad was saying with an undertone of apology. "Staff meeting."

Aunt Sol chuckled. "How dutiful of you."

He shrugged. "Can't get out of it. And I'm not a kid any more."

"Good morning," Lexa chirped, not bothering to rein in her happy undertones. Both of the adults smiled.

"I called the school," Dad said, "and you have permission to be absent today."

"Really?" Lexa bounced in place. "Thank you thank you!"

"They'll be sending home your assignments, though, and I have to work today, so you and your aunt are on your own."

"Aunt Sol, we're going to have so much fun! We can go everywhere and I can show you all the things—"

Aunt Sol flicked her a grin. "Sure, Lexa. You can show me all your favorites."

Her favorites included both of the parks they most often went to, the one near her and Dad's apartment, and the other one near David and his mom's. Then Aunt Sol bought Lexa a new set of drawing pencils, and they got fruit ices for a treat. While licking the last of the sweet cold stuff out of its wrapper, Lexa spied the game kiosk. "Aunt Sol, can we go there next? I want to get something for David for Christmas." She pronounced the funny word carefully.

"Hm. Sure. What's that, some kind of human holiday?" Aunt Sol asked.

"That's right. It's soon. In, uh... I forget how many days." Finished, Lexa headed to the kiosk and flicked through the selection menus at the terminal, looking for something they hadn't already tried out.

Aunt Sol followed along and looked over her shoulder. "He must be a good friend, if you want to give him a gift."

"David is my best friend. He was nice to me as soon as we moved here." It was strange to remember those first days. She'd missed Palaven all the time, but all the same, it had been nice to live somewhere new. "We're in the same study group at school."

"I suppose you must see a lot of each other, then."

"Uh-huh." She narrowed it down to several selections and started playing the demo footage for each one. "We study together after school and play games sometimes, and watch vids, and, oh, Aunt Sol, they have a dog to play with!"

"A dog?"

"It's like a, a—" Lexa waved her hands to demonstrate the approximate shape and size. "—kind of like a varren, I guess, but lots more friendly and it's got hair like humans have but all over."

"Hm. That sounds peculiar. What do they keep it for?"

"I guess to play with?" Lexa went back to the menu of games.

"What about his mother?"

"What?" She rejected one choice and played the vid for the next one.

"Do you see a lot of David's mother, too?"

"I dunno. I guess so? I mean, I go to their house and she's there. She's really nice. She came and stayed with us when Dad was sick."

"Did she? When was your Dad sick?"

"Um, I forget. A few weeks ago?" Decision made, Lexa punched in her choice and slid her credit chit into the slot. "Sometimes we sleep at their house."

Her omni-tool flickered with the game access code that the kiosk had sent. She requested an OSD, too, because Dad said it was good to have back-ups, and also the stories about Christmas had talked about _unwrapping_ stuff, so maybe it was important to have something real to wrap up. She had to wait a minute for the machine to produce the disk.

"Both you and your Dad sleep over there?" Aunt Sol asked as they turned away from the kiosk.

For the first time, Lexa noticed a funny undertone to Aunt Sol's voice. A little sharp, and she wasn't sure what it meant. "Yeah, a few times." She liked trying to avoid stepping on the cracks between floor panels, but she accidentally stepped on one and then had to hop to avoid stepping on the next one.

"Really," said Aunt Sol. Her harmonics still twanged a little. Lexa cocked her head, trying to figure it out.

"Yes. Can we go out for dinner tonight?"

"Sure." Aunt Sol's voice smoothed out. "It'll be my treat."

* * *

Garrus had said he'd talk to Sol. It was harder than he'd thought to find a moment.

Shepard had dismissed the notion, said it was okay to "take a little break." She kept insisting that was fine, when they exchanged messages, but he still didn't like it, for a lot of reasons. It felt disrespectful to Shepard, and wrong, to try to conceal their relationship, to pretend she was nothing more to him than an old friend and commander. He had wanted to explain what was going on to David and Lexa because he didn't want to conceal it any more.

For another thing, there was no real point in his trying to lie to Solana. He'd gotten better at that particular skill, by necessity, but Solana had known him since he drew his first breath. There was no way he was getting anything past her.

She didn't raise the subject herself, though, in spite of her irritation that first night. Garrus wasn't sure if she was being tactful or just letting the anticipation build.

Or maybe, like him, she hadn't found the right moment. Lexa was almost always there, for one thing, sticking to Sol as if they were surgically attached. She was full of chatter about school and friends and the Citadel. He had reservations about keeping her out of school for a couple of days, but, well... Sol wasn't going to visit all the time, Lexa wouldn't have much difficulty catching back up, and she was so attached to Sol that she wouldn't be concentrating much at school, anyway.

Lexa talked a lot about David and Rusty and Shepard, too, and Garrus could almost see Solana filing each tidbit of information away. She wasn't the daughter of a detective for nothing. Instead of asking about Shepard, though, she asked questions about his work, or talked about her work, how the ongoing project of rebuilding Cipritine was going, or the changes to the Citadel. Or they talked about her family and mutual friends and acquaintances he hadn't seen in the months since they'd come here.

"How's Dad?" he'd asked over dinner the second night, the three of them out at a turian-specialty establishment that their father had favored during his years in C-Sec. It had reopened not long after the Citadel began its post-war restoration. The family that owned it wasn't going to let a little thing like the near-destruction of the Citadel drive them out of business. Turians were stubborn that way; hence the fact that Cipritine remained Palaven's capital, despite nearly being reduced to ash during the war. He didn't bother masking the undertones of anxiety in his question. There was no doubt his father was still capable, as he reminded Garrus with asperity whenever he expressed concern, but the man was nearly eighty and starting to grow frail.

Sol laughed a little, a strange half-choked sound. "He's doing well. He's seeing someone, actually."

Garrus had blinked. "Really?" There was something very odd about the notion of his aging father courting again.

Lexa apparently agreed. She tilted her head. "Grandfather's dating someone?"

Sol flicked her mandibles. "Yeah. I like her. She's a construction engineer. She was retired, but she's been supervising projects since the war. Lost her husband then, too."

"Well." It had been over a decade, after all, and Garrus wasn't exactly in a position to begrudge anyone else finding a new partner. "It's nice they found each other."

Sol gave him a sharp look, and for a moment he wondered if she was about to ask him about Shepard. The restrained atmosphere of the restaurant was not a good venue for a family fight, though, and Lexa provided a diversion by asking, "What's she like? Does she have any grandchildren?"

Finally, on the third day of Solana's visit, Lexa wound down and temporarily ran out of things to talk about. Garrus sent her to her room to work on her missed assignments. He wasn't surprised when Sol came to loom in his office door, propped her shoulder against the door frame, and said, "You know, I'm surprised to find you spending time with Shepard."

He swiveled his chair to face her. "Why?" he asked, as blandly as possible. "She's an old friend and comrade."

Sol shrugged and crossed her arms. "True. I suppose I thought you were quit of her, that's all."

There was a hint of a challenge in her voice. He matched it. "Lexa and David happen to be at the same school, and they've hit it off."

"Now that's a coincidence."

He decided to ignore the sarcasm. "It's not much of a coincidence, considering we were both looking for high standards and good security."

"Mm." Sol's shoulders shifted. "And yet, the children being friends doesn't require _you_ to spend the night with her."

He sat back in his chair and didn't bother to hide his annoyance. "Stop playing games, Sol. If you have a question, come out and ask it."

Her mandibles flared. "Oh, now you're going to answer questions?"

His turn to cross his arms. "You seem to be picking an old fight, there, Sol. How old is it? Fifteen years?" It was a fight they'd had more than once, both while he was on Omega and afterward. She'd even admitted she understood his reasons for keeping secrets, that time when they'd had it out fully, but she still couldn't let it go. He supposed he couldn't entirely blame her.

"Fifteen years sounds about right." She uncrossed her arms and stepped into his office, the door sliding shut behind her. "Fine. You want a question? Are you involved with Shepard?"

He answered without hesitation. "Yes."

She took a breath, her hands closing into fists. "_How_ involved?"

"I don't think I can _quantify_ it," he said, deliberately literal. "We're seeing each other. We've been spending a lot of time together. The kids like each other. Everything's fine."

"Why?" she demanded, her voice harsh. He was grateful that the door blocked sound well. "Why would you go back to her now? Have you lost your mind?"

Garrus sighed. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it? Give her a chance."

"Why?" Solana asked bluntly.

He offered a narrow-eyed stare in return. "Because she's important to me?"

Solana folded her arms across her chest again, settling into weight back on her feet. The stance was exactly like their father's, right down to the disapproving expression. "And here's where I question your judgment, Garrus. You're... too attached to this human. That attachment has _hurt_ you. You abandoned the family and left C-Sec because of her. You repeatedly put yourself in serious jeopardy because of her. And what did you get back? She ran off with her human lover the first chance she got, didn't she? Don't even _try_ to pretend to me you were all right with that. And now you're just going to let her back into your life? Your child's life? After what she did?"

Garrus rose to his feet, matching her intensity. "Going to Omega was _my_ choice. Don't put it on Shepard. I fought at her side because I believed in her, and I was _right_. _She_ was right. I think the war proved that well enough. As for the rest—" He swept his hand to the side, brushing the old heartbreak and complications away. He'd had his chance to think his way through them. "That's between her and me. We care about each other. She's good with Lex, and Lex likes her. Leave it alone."

She took in a short, sharp breath. "And what would Mely think about this?"

He should have expected the question, probably, considering it has been on his mind, too, but the suddenness of it caught him off guard. He took a step forward, letting his anger show. "Don't you dare bring her into this."

She tilted her head up and met his stare. "She was my friend, Garrus, and I don't think she'd like to see you chasing after someone who's hurt you before."

"She was my _wife_," he snapped. "I think I knew her better than you. And she knew all about Shepard and me."

That was the first thing he'd said that seemed to surprise her. "Really."

"Yes, really."

Solana still held herself stiffly, but she dropped her chin. "You told your wife about your ill-advised liaison with your human commander."

"I told her about it long before she was my wife. I thought if we were getting serious, than she should know..." He trailed off, searching for the right word. "Everything. Who I was. Where I'd been. I didn't conceal anything from her."

His sister deflated then, her eyes going to the floor and her shoulders dropping, but she said nothing.

"Believe me," Garrus continued, more quietly, "I still think about her every day. Not just when I see Lex, but... I haven't forgotten."

"Lexa looks exactly like you, and always has." Solana said it as if she were thinking about something else.

He shook his head. Sol had always said so, and Shepard had said something similar, but he saw Mely very clearly in the way Lexa tilted her head, the shape of her jaw, a thousand other tiny signs.

Solana sighed. "I still don't like it. How can you possibly trust her, after what happened before?"

Garrus had had his struggles on this subject. Perhaps he couldn't even claim to be entirely done with them. But in the end, simply being around Shepard did a lot to assuage his worries. "Shepard has never betrayed me," he said slowly, ignoring Solana's scoff. "She's not what you think. She's one of the finest soldiers and commanders I've known, and she sacrificed a great deal—"

"I don't consider her military career relevant to this, Garrus."

"The rest... she and I talked about it. Give her a chance," he said again. "I care about her, Sol, and I'm not going to cut her out of my life just because you don't like it. Try actually talking to her, and see what she's really like. Not hearsay or what you saw on the vids. Let's have dinner again, or something, and this time, try to get to know her a little."

She was thinking about that one; he could see it. "Fine," she said at last. "When do you want to do this?"

He shrugged. "How long are you staying?"


	23. Chapter 23

The days of Solana's visit wore uncomfortably long.

Somehow, now that Shepard couldn't just drop by or send a message and expect an immediate answer, she felt practically bereft. Shepard had gotten a couple of brief, apologetic messages from Garrus in the course of the day, while he was at work. She told him she was fine—which was true—but, when she asked, he wasn't sure how long Solana intended to stay, and Shepard gritted her teeth. It was unbelievably pathetic and needy. She was the one who'd suggested they take a break while Solana was visiting. She was a grown-up, for heaven's sake, not a kid who couldn't control herself. She should be able to manage for a few days without seeing her... boyfriend.

But the little bits of attention she could get from him only made her want more. David, too, came home from school looking dejected, reporting that Lexa hadn't been there. She suggested he find another friend to play with, but he moped around the house instead, tossing toys for Rusty to chase.

The second day was basically the same.

_You're sure you're okay? G_

She smiled at the solicitude. _It's fine. You know, maybe we should cancel the weekend plans_. She didn't like to have to do it; the upcoming weekend would include the usual dinner together, probably a trip to the park for the dog, the kids' weekly shooting lesson, maybe a sleepover or two. It might be better if she tried to plan something just for her and David.

_Let's not do that yet. I'm going to talk to Sol._

Shepard sighed. She didn't have much inclination to spend more time in the company of a woman who clearly didn't like her or want her around. She didn't entirely trust Solana to remain civil to David, either, so she wasn't minded to send him on his own. More than that, she wasn't sure if she could reasonably expect anything to change. _Do you really think it will help?_ She sent.

Garrus was really the only turian she knew more than casually. There were plenty of turians she'd dealt with on a professional basis, and some of them she could count as friendly acquaintances. She'd chatted with a couple of the turian parents at school events, from time to time. She knew turians in general were loyal and stubborn, and she didn't really know how they did _family life_.

_She can be reasonable. I have to go, I'll message you later. G_

She sighed again, looking at the stack of reports in front of her and the hand-delivered invitation from the human councilor that she really didn't feel like dealing with. Everything had her out of sorts.

It shouldn't matter so much, really, not seeing Garrus or Lexa for a few days. It had happened before. She and David could get along fine by themselves. He had other friends, and she had other things to do.

It _did_ matter, though. Maybe because it wasn't entirely her choice. Whatever it was, she felt sore and resentful about everything.

David seemed to feel similarly. He came home from school glum, again, dragging his feet and dropping his backpack with a heavy sigh. Shepard knew she had to do something to shake them both out of their bad moods.

"Come on," she told him, "let's put up the Christmas tree."

He frowned. "Already?"

"It's December," she pointed out. "Christmas isn't that far off."

Neither she nor Kaidan had ever been especially religious, but they'd held on to a version of Christmas. They enjoyed the decorations and presents anyway. Besides, once they'd had David, she'd wanted things to be as normal as possible for him, and most humans on the Citadel celebrated some version of the holiday. They had a little artificial tree, green and strung with lights. It even emitted a little pine scent. Shepard hauled it out of storage and set it up while David carried the boxes of ornaments. Mindful of Rusty, who was bounding around with great enthusiasm, she set a hook in the ceiling and anchored the tree to it to keep the dog from knocking it over entirely. "The glass and other fragile ones have to go toward the top, so Rusty can't get at them," she told David.

"What about my snowflakes?" he asked, sorting out the boxes. Kaidan's mother sent David a silver snowflake ornament every year, each one slightly different and engraved with the date.

"Those are metal, so they'll be okay down low."

Together they found the hooks and started hanging ornaments. Besides the snowflakes, there were some crude but cheerful ornaments that David had made over the years, a bunch of colored glass balls that she and Kaidan had bought for their first Christmas after the war, and a few special ones: a little model _Normandy_ that Joker had given her, a shimmering snow globe from Liara, a colorful folk-art angel from James. Seeing all of the ornaments together gave her a pleasant warm glow. Christmas was among the better times she could remember of her childhood. The presents had usually come out of the charity box and the meals from shelters or soup kitchens, but even so, there had been a kind of cheer and comfort to the holiday that she didn't associate with the rest of her youth.

"What do you want for Christmas?" she asked David. She'd picked up various odds and ends for him over the months, but she hadn't quite settled on what his most important present should be.

He paused while hanging one of his favorite ornaments, a glass ball that had a little spinning star inside it. "What I really want is my own rifle. Can I have one, Mom?"

Shepard pressed her lips together. She hand shook as she carefully hooked a little blue orb onto a branch. "I think you're a little young for that, honey." She was proud of herself that her voice came out steady.

"I'm almost eleven, Mom."

She'd first held a pistol when she was ten. She couldn't remember where she'd gotten it. "That's exactly my point."

David scowled. "Lexa says she's getting her own on her next birthday, and that's just in a couple of months. She's younger than I am!"

She felt her jaw clench. Garrus could do as he saw fit with his own child. That didn't mean hers should expect the same. "She's also turian. Sometimes they do things differently."

His lower lip stuck out. "It's not that different. We've had the same lessons. And you're the one who's... you know. Dating."

That was true, but hardly relevant. Shepard ignored the diversion and tried another tack. "I thought you were fine using Garrus's rifles for your lessons."

"That's okay, but I want my _own_. I know how to take care of it and keep it safe, Mom. I'll be really really careful, I promise."

Shepard knew Garrus wouldn't neglect any aspect of the lessons, and he was meticulous about his own weapons. She was therefore confident that David did indeed know how to keep the thing safe. Still, the thought of her ten-year-old having a gun to call his own gave her a queasy feeling. It wasn't even his own safety, necessarily, that she worried about. "We'll see," she got out. "Is there anything else you want?"

David's brown eyes narrowed. "We'll see means no."

"It means I need to think about it more." She reached for another ornament.

"I want my own. So I can practice with it and join the Alliance. Like you and Dad."

Her sweaty fingers slipped on a fragile glass ball, nearly dropping it. "That's something we can discuss, but you won't be eighteen for a while yet."

David's scowl darkened. He hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms. "You don't even care about what I want, do you?"

"Of course I care about what you want—"

"You don't either! You just want me to do what you want, and be a little kid forever!"

Shepard wheeled toward him. "You're only ten! It's way too early to talk about joining up."

He glared at her and the tree and the ornaments still sitting in their boxes. In the brief silence, Rusty barked.

Shepard said, "I just want you to be safe, honey."

David tensed all over. A thin blue ripple shimmered around him. He turned, starting toward his room.

"Don't just walk away from me, David."

He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders bunching up even more. "You won't even listen to me. Can't I just go?"

"We're not done with this," she said, not sure whether she meant the decorating, or the conversation.

"I have homework to do."

Shepard rubbed her forehead. Letting him walk away felt like giving up. Strategic retreat, she told herself. Give him some time and space to cool down, and maybe they could talk reasonably later. "Fine."

He stomped off. The door to his room shut. Loudly. Rusty trotted after him, whining.

Shepard sat down on the couch. She could still visualize that pistol. A cheap, battered piece of crap that she'd carried around for a long time. A couple of years, probably. She didn't think she'd ever fired it. It probably would have blown up in her hands if she'd tried, or jammed. Damn it, she just wanted her son to have a safe, happy childhood. Innocent. Was that so wrong? He kept saying he wanted to be a marine when he grew up, but she didn't believe he understood what that meant. Maybe she'd screwed up. She and Kaidan, and James, and Garrus—maybe they'd told him too many stories. He probably thought the military was about camaraderie and fun times and winning. She hadn't talked about the boredom of hours spent on patrol, or the pain of finding your physical limits, or what it felt like to have your companions dying around you, or the burdens of command. She didn't like talking about the war years, or Akuze, or her childhood. She'd done her best to put all that behind her, moving forward into a life where she had a home and a family. Stability. A future without Reapers. But... had she sheltered him too much?

Maybe David was right. Maybe she was so caught up in what she wanted for him that she wasn't paying enough attention to what he wanted for himself. He was only ten, though. How could he possibly know what he wanted out of life?

She needed to talk to someone. She wasn't sure she could trust herself on this, not entirely. She got up and made her way, stiffly, to her terminal.

_G— Got a minute? I need to talk to you about something. RS_

She waited, frowning at her invitation from the councilor. Fortunately, as message came back within minutes.

_Everything okay? I'm out with Lex and Sol at the moment, but I'll have time later._ _G_

Shepard sighed, frustrated.

_No, it's fine, just something about David. We can talk later. _

The next reply also came quickly.

_Okay, I'll give you a call. Tonight if we don't get back too late. Miss you._

In spite of her worries, she smiled. _You too. Have fun._

She stayed at the console for a while, considering if there was anyone else she could talk to. Tali, maybe, but her kids were younger, and it was probably night where she was. She could try her mother-in-law, maybe, she might understand how Shepard felt...

A moment later her console pinged with an incoming personal message. She checked it automatically, wondering if Garrus had found a bit of free time after all.

It wasn't from Garrus. It was a welcome diversion, though.

_Shep,_

_Long time no see! Guess who's on the Citadel. Can you meet up?_

_KG_

Shepard blinked at the message, surprised. Kasumi wasn't the first person she would have thought of, but she had to admit that the idea of getting out of the apartment and talking to an old friend like her had appeal.


	24. Chapter 24

David was still sullen when Shepard knocked at his door, but he was willing enough to go a couple apartments down and do homework at a neighbor's for a while, especially with the promise of playing with the neighbor's son into the bargain. Shepard felt a bit guilty about it anyway, but she had the sense that he was glad to get some space between the two of them.

So now she faced Kasumi across a cafe table, steaming cups of tea in front of them. "What brings you to the Citadel this time?" she asked.

Kasumi's smile widened. She was dressed to blend in, in ordinary civilian clothes rather than close-fitting suits she'd once favored, but she still wore a hood that half obscured her face. "Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that."

Shepard gave her a wary look. "Please tell me C-Sec isn't about to swoop down on us and arrest you."

Kasumi laughed. "As if! I'm quite legitimate these days, Shep."

Shepard had her doubts about that. She was fairly sure Kasumi still used her considerable skills for something other than merely "security consulting," and wouldn't have been surprised to find that Kasumi was now working for Liara. There was no real benefit to pushing the subject, though.

"So what's new with you?" Kasumi asked, sipping from her delicate cup.

Shepard sighed. "I don't even know where to start."

"How's David?"

"Good," she said, remembering their argument with a grimace.

Kasumi noticed, of course. "That's not a 'good' face there, Shep."

She looked down at her cup. "We just... had a little argument. He wants his own rifle for Christmas, and I..." She shook her head. "He's growing up so fast. I'd like him to be a kid for as long as he can."

"Sounds like a parent," she replied with a smile. "Most kids can't wait to grow up, though, can they?"

"No." Shepard sighed.

"What are you doing to do?" Kasumi asked.

Shepard toyed with one of her braids. "I... don't know. He might be old enough to handle it responsibly, but..."

"It must make an impression, when he knows so many military adults."

"I suppose." Shepard shook her head, searching for a change of topic. "What else is new? Let's see, we have a dog."

Kasumi's smile widened. "Really? I love dogs! What's he like?"

She showed Kasumi some pictures from her omni-tool, and smiled fondly while Kasumi exclaimed over puppy and boy alike.

"And what about you? Anything new in _your_ life?" Kasumi waggled her eyebrows. "Seeing anyone?"

Shepard coughed and couldn't quite pass it off as drinking hot tea too fast. She really should have been prepared for that question. Kasumi leaned in, propping her elbows on the table. "You _are_. Who is it? Tell me all about him. Her? No, I'll guess him."

"You, ah, already know him." Shepard squirmed a little. "It's Garrus."

"Garrus? Really? That's great! You two were so cute together back in the day."

"Cute?" Shepard groaned, not sure which one of the two of them the adjective seemed worst for. Then she registered the rest of what Kasumi had said. "What do you mean, back in the day? Did everyone know?"

Kasumi grinned. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. A few of us were... observing. I'm sure some of the team didn't really care, though. Grunt. Samara."

"Still, we were trying to be discreet."

"You were. Mostly." Kasumi's eyes practically twinkled as she took a sip. Shepard tried desperately to recall what might not be covered under 'mostly.' Kasumi added, "I mean, I can't blame you for being attracted to Kaidan, because _mmmm_, but I always thought you and Garrus were good together."

"Thanks," Shepard said, unable to come up with a snappier comeback.

"I thought he was on Palaven, though?"

"He was. He and his daughter moved here a few months ago."

"Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten he had a daughter. What's she like?"

"She's a really sweet kid." Shepard smiled. "Smart as a whip. She and David are really good friends."

"Convenient," Kasumi murmured, and Shepard ducked her head, her face growing warm.

Somehow, between sips of tea and the plateful of snacks that appeared partway through the conversation, she wound up telling Kasumi everything. Well, not quite _everything_; she left the really private details private. But she told her about the awkwardness and what Tali had said and how Solana hated her. "I can't even blame her," she finished. "I did break up with him, and... I don't know. If Tali could see he was having a hard time during the war, why couldn't I?"

"Hm," said Kasumi. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Shep."

"What do you mean?"

She leaned back in her chair and shrugged one shoulder, elegantly. "It seems to me that if you didn't know what Garrus was going through during the war, it's because he didn't want you to know."

Shepard turned that over. "Maybe you're right. Still, we were friends, and I don't feel good about being so... selfish, or oblivious, or whatever."

Kasumi shrugged again. "Seems like he's over it."

"I hope so." Shepard sighed. "And on top of everything else, there's a New Year's gala at the embassy that I have to go to. I usually manage to get out of it, but this year the human councilor is insisting." She didn't consider herself much of a public figure any more, but when an exquisitely polite, yet forceful, invitation came from Councilor Nakamura herself, handwritten on delicate cherry-blossom-perfumed stationery, it was difficult to refuse.

"Well." Kasumi practically winked at her. "At least you have a date?"

Shepard winced. "I haven't asked him," she admitted. "It just came in a few days ago, and I've been in denial. I hate this kind of party."

"C'mon, Shep. You had fun at Hock's party."

"We were _infiltrating_ Hock's party."

"I know! It was fun. And wasn't there that thing at the casino?"

"That was _also_ infiltration. I always feel out of place at a party," she grumbled. Neither growing up on the streets nor years of military life gave her much practice at dancing, making small talk, or otherwise mingling with high society. "I don't even have anything to wear." She had one black cocktail dress in her closet. She hadn't worn it in years. It probably didn't even fit any more.

"Oh, well _there_ I can help you." Kasumi pushed her plate, which had only a few crumbs remaining, aside. "Let's go shopping."

"What?" If there was one thing Shepard hated more than fancy parties, it was shopping. For clothing, at least. Shopping for weapons and armor, or toys for David: that was something else entirely.

"C'mon, Shep." Kasumi clasped her hands under her chin. "It's so much more fun shopping with a friend."

Kasumi was probably right on that point, not that Shepard had much experience on the score. She hesitated.

"Please?" Kasumi wheedled. "I'll help you find something _gorgeous_."

Shepard gave in. "Fine. But we're paying for everything with actual credits from legitimate sources."

Kasumi sat back, still smiling. "Of course we will!"

#

Shopping with Kasumi was both more fun and more terrifying than Shepard had imagined would be possible.

In the first place, Kasumi steered her to a much higher-end boutique than Shepard would ordinarily have ventured into. In the second place, the asari proprietor, a woman with an aqua-tinted complexion and a generous figure, recognized Shepard almost immediately. "It would be my _great_ pleasure to assist you in preparing for such an important event," she said once Kasumi had explained the circumstances they were shopping for.

Shepard stammered, "It's really not that—"

"Please," the asari interrupted. "Feel free to look around. I shall examine the inventory and bring you some examples to inspect." She swept off in a cloud of perfume and sweeping skirts. Shepard blinked after her.

"What are we supposed to do now?" she asked Kasumi.

The thief shrugged. "Look at the merchandise, I suppose. Prila's supposed to be the best on the Citadel."

The boutique's front room was spacious, adorned with both real mannequins and holographic models wearing an array of vivid, lavishly decorated gowns. Asari were prominently represented, but females of nearly every species were visible—there were plenty of human women, but Shepard noticed turian, salarian, and quarian models as well. The clothing on the holographic models gradually changed style and color. Shepard wandered through the store feeling stiff, ungainly, and on the verge of sensory overload.

Prila returned with an armload of brilliantly colored fabrics and ushered Shepard and Kasumi into a mirrored back room. "We have pre-made samples, but many styles can be made to order, and of course alterations are available for the best fit," she explained as, one after another, she held up a dress or a length of fabric to Shepard's body and then discarded it, draping it over a nearby rack with a flick of her wrist.

To Shepard's great relief, Kasumi intervened. "Could you leave us to try things on? I think my friend needs more time to look these over."

"Of course. Not everything will fit. Do not settle for a garment that is too tight or too loose. We can _certainly_ alter to fit."

"Thank you," Shepard managed.

She started to take off her clothes while Kasumi sorted through the heap of brilliant attire. She was halfway down to her underwear when the asari swooped back in. Shepard suppressed a yelp, but Prila was merely bearing tea and cakes, setting a tray down on a nearby table before departing again. "As if we needed more tea," she muttered.

"It's just a courtesy, Shep. Now where shall we start? There are a whole lot of dresses in here." Kasumi looked around, hands on her hips.

"No lace," said Shepard, eyeing a cloud of pale blue lace and tulle suspiciously.

"Aw." Kasumi set it aside and reached for something in red satin.

"Ugh," Shepard grumbled, but put it on. It took her only one glance in the mirror to decree, "No ruffles, either."

"I'm forced to agree," Kasumi said. "All that volume really doesn't do you any favors."

Shepard sighed. "Can we find something simple? Black, maybe? Plain?"

Some sorting through the stack turned up a floor-length black gown. "There. That'll do fine," Shepard decreed.

Kasumi pursed her lips. "I don't know. It pulls here and there—"

"Alterations will fix that."

"Maybe. I don't know that black's your best color, though. It makes you look a little tired."

Shepard frowned at her reflection. "I thought everyone can wear black."

"Not everyone can wear it _well_," said Kasumi. "Try on a few more? Please?"

Shepard rejected a white dress as too bridal, and a couple more for revealing scars she'd prefer to keep covered in public. "Could I interest you in something blue?" Kasumi asked with a devilish grin, holding up a length of cloth in a familiar deep-blue shade.

Shepard flushed, wincing. "Um, I think that might be a little... forward, Kasumi."

Kasumi lowered the dress and regarded Shepard sternly. "You _are_ going to ask Garrus to be your date, right?"

"Sure, but I think _matching_ might be a little much."

She tensed as Kasumi held the fabric up to her face. The younger woman shook her head. "Not your color, anyway."

Shepard surveyed the piles of colored fabric surrounding them. "Can we just go with the black one?"

"Don't you want to stand out a little?"

"Not really, no." What she really wanted to do was stay just long enough to keep the Councilor off her back, and then flee back home.

"Aw, c'mon, Shep. Just a couple more?"

She sighed. "Kasumi, the black one will be fine, really."

"Oh! Here, try this one. I think this just might be your color."

"Orange?" Shepard looked doubtfully at the heap of glowing silk Kasumi had just shoved into her arms. "Okay, but this is the last one."

"Uh-huh." Kasumi was already poking through the rest of the piles again.

Shepard rolled her eyes at the other woman and dutifully slipped the gown on. It was simple enough, at least; roomy enough to step into. She zipped up the back as far as she could, and Kasumi stepped over to slide it up the rest of the way. "I really don't know about the color—" she said, but the rest of the words died on her lips as she looked in the mirror.

"Told you," said Kasumi with satisfaction.

Shepard couldn't quite put her finger on what it was—but what had looked on the hanger like a garish bright orange was transmuted, on her body, into something like glowing flames. She was forced to admit the color made her brown skin look brighter and warmer. The dress was a nearly perfect fit, draping elegantly to the floor, with panels that crisscrossed over the waist and hips. It was sleeveless, but had enough drape over the neckline and shoulders that it covered the old surgical scars there. She couldn't manage to say anything coherent; she didn't think she'd ever looked so good, not even on her wedding day.

"Sure you don't want to stand out?"

"I, uh..."

Prila bustled back into the room. "How are you ladies? Oh, very nice. That suits you beautifully."

The dress cost enough credits that Shepard had to nerve herself up to approve the payment. She seldom spent so much on anything for herself... but she couldn't bear to pass the dress up. It had been a long time since she felt that _pretty_.

Shepard offered Kasumi the guest room, but she said she had other business, and Shepard thought it best not to ask more questions. She arrived home and carefully put the gown away in her closet, pausing to touch the soft, vivid fabric one more time.

Her terminal sounded: an incoming vidcall. Shepard went out to the office to answer the call and was relieved to see Garrus, obviously sitting down at the terminal in his own office. "Hi there," she said, smiling wide.

He smiled back, mandibles open and eyes bright. "Hi yourself. Is everything all right? You seemed upset, earlier."

Shepard sighed, her smile fading. "I had a bit of argument with David today. Christmas is coming up—I don't know if you remember, it's a human holiday?"

Garrus looked blank for a second before slowly nodding. "I remember. With the... greenery."

Her lips twitched. Somehow Kelly had managed to decorate the mess hall in paper snowflakes, red and green ribbon, and real pine branches without either Shepard or Miranda finding out about it. The human crew had mostly been delighted; the alien crew, baffled. "Yeah, that's the one. So, he's getting gifts for Christmas, and it turns out he wants a rifle."

Garrus's mandibles pulled in. "Ah. Lexa's getting one when she turns ten, and she's very excited about it. That probably encouraged the idea. Sorry about that."

She hadn't meant to bring that up at all—Lexa's upbringing was his business, not hers—but the words burst out of her mouth anyway. "Don't you think she's a little young?"

His brow plates pulled down. "I had my first when I was ten. She's at least as responsible as I was. No, more. Definitely. She knows how to care for it and how to use it safely. It's a simple model, nothing fancy, but she's practiced hard enough to earn one that she can call her own. And once she has it, she and I are going to work on modding it. I think she'll enjoy that."

"I just..." she gripped the desk in front of her, frustrated. "It really doesn't bother you?"

His mandibles flickered. "She's going to be in service in a few years, remember. I want her to be ready. Honestly, I'd rather teach her myself."

Cultural differences, she reminded herself. "Right. Sorry. For us, I can't help thinking... a gun is an adult weapon. I'd rather he be a kid for longer."

Garrus went very still for a second. "You haven't had a problem with the shooting lessons."

"I know." Her jaw tightened. "I thought... he'd been begging and begging. I thought if he learned, it would get it out of his system. I didn't think he'd keep pushing and want more."

He was silent again for a while, and when he spoke next, he spoke slowly and deliberately. "You haven't been to a lesson in a while. Maybe you should come observe again. I know he's young, Shepard, but... you know how he's energetic and not always focused?"

"Of course I do," she said, irritated. She didn't need Garrus to tell her about her own kid.

"Well, he focuses on this. He's serious about wanting to join the Alliance." Garrus fiddled with his collar. "I know your wishes, so I've tried not to say anything you'd object to, but you should realize that it's a real ambition. An intention, even."

"I don't..." Her breath seemed to be coming a little short. She longed to get up and pace. "He's just a kid. He has years yet. He might change his mind."

"He might. I understand your reluctance," Garrus said, folding his hands together. His gaze drifted to a point somewhere to her left. "I hope you can understand that I'm not the person to stand between a child and his dream. Or her dream. If they want it enough, and they're willing to work for it, I'm not going to throw obstacles into the way."

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about, and then she felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head, taking her frustration with it. "Oh, God, Garrus, I'm sorry..."

He shook his head. "No apology necessary. I'm fine. My life hasn't taken the course I once hoped it would, but... whose does, really? I'm saying this for you." He looked at her intently now, leaning forward a little. "You can try to explain your fears to him in a way that he'll understand. You should, actually. But if you press it harder, you should realize that one of two things will happen: either he'll defy you and do as he chooses anyway, or he'll put his own wishes aside to please you. Either one of those things has consequences for your relationship."

Shepard was silent. When she'd first met Garrus, he'd told her how he'd abandoned his hopes of becoming a Spectre to follow his father's career in C-Sec. She knew their relationship had been strained for a long time. She hadn't thought about herself and David in the same terms; and as she sat at her desk, wishing they were having this conversation face to face, she realized how desperately she'd been hoping that David would just get over the idea of becoming a marine, even though he'd been saying it for years already. Finally, she said, slowly, "Right. You're sure he's serious?"

Garrus nodded. "He seems serious to me. You can come and watch any time. Or just ask him, and see for yourself."

"Okay." She blew out a breath. "Okay. You're right. I should... there's a lot of things I haven't told him, about my career."

He nodded again. "I thought so. Does he even know... who you are?"

She grimaced. "Sort of. I don't think it's really sunk in. When they talk about the war in school, it's much bigger on the 'everybody pitched in together' thing than the hero thing. Most of what we did during the war was somewhat clandestine, anyway. A lot of the details get glossed over." Cerberus. The genophage cure. The asari's obstructionism. Things that, if she thought very much about them, still made her angry.

"Turian schools are a little selective about those things, too."

"Okay. I'll... have a talk with him, I guess. Thanks." She took a deep breath. "There's another thing."

"What's that?"

"I have to go to this formal-dress party at the embassy in a few weeks. It marks the change of the human calendar, and we're flipping from 2199 to 2200, which is kind of a big deal."

Garrus looked puzzled. "Why?"

Shepard sighed. "Because we like changing digits on our calendar display, okay? It doesn't make a lot of sense and I don't think I can explain it adequately."

"Humans," he muttered.

She glared through the screen at him. He was trying to keep a straight face, but his mandibles flared out into a grin as she looked at him. "_Anyway_. I have to go, and I was wondering if you'd come with me."

He tipped his head to the side. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Yes. It's going to be a totally boring gala full of fancy people I don't want to talk to in fancy clothes, with dancing, but there will probably be a lot of booze and maybe even some dextro snacks. Please come keep me company?"

"Well, when you put it that way, how could I refuse?" he drawled, relaxed now. "Formal dress, you say?"

"Yeah. Black tie. Or whatever the turian equivalent is."

"I can manage that."

They smiled at each other. Shepard sighed. "I really wish you were here. I miss you."

"Actually, what I called to say is that Sol's leaving the day after tomorrow. I talked to her, and she thinks we should have dinner again."

"Really?" Shepard swallowed. "You're sure that's a good idea?"

"I asked her to give you a chance and try to get to know you."

"Tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. If you can manage it. No pressure, if you'd rather not."

It was nice of him to give her an out, but if she was committed, she had to deal with the reality of his family. She took a deep breath. "Okay, then. Let's give this a try."


	25. Chapter 25

Someone else might have separated the two things she was dreading. There was no real need to have a serious talk with her son right before having a serious dinner with her boyfriend's sister.

If she put it off, though, Shepard was at some risk of losing her nerve, and Christmas was only so far away. Besides, David was still tending to be sullen around her, and she wanted to clear the air between them before wanting into dinner with the Vakarians.

She thought it over like a battle plan once she'd seen David off to school. She picked her moment as best she could, waiting until David had come home from school, walked Rusty, and done some homework. Shepard took the box she'd had in mind down from the top shelf of her closet and went out to the living room where David sat reading, half-sprawled on the couch with Rusty's head on his lap. She cleared her throat. "David, can I talk to you for a minute?"

He looked up from his pad and his eyes rounded, startled. "Sure."

Shepard sat down on the couch carefully, allowing some space between them. Rusty lifted his head and sighed at her; she reached out to scratch between his ears. "I've been thinking about the rifle you asked for."

David's expression hardened into wariness. "Yeah?"

"Yes, I have." She sighed. "Are you sure you want to join the military when you grow up?"

He stiffened. "_Yes_, Mom. And I _know_ you don't like it."

"Do you know why?"

There was a pause then, and when she stole a look at him, he was looking at the floor with his brow puckered. "Because of Dad?"

"That's part of it. A military career is dangerous. You could be killed, like your dad, or permanently injured, like me, and it scares me to think about that happening to you."

He scowled. "Mom—"

"Just give me a minute, all right?" Shepard lifted a hand and collected herself, trying to keep her voice calm. "I'm not sitting here to try to talk you out of it. I want to be honest with you, though. I know I haven't told you a lot about my career. There are still some things that I can't really tell you, and there are other things that I'll tell you, but you need to keep private—I don't want you going around telling other kids at school some of this stuff, all right? They're personal. But there are things I want to tell you, and I'll try to answer any question you have, but don't argue with me yet. Okay?"

His brow knit in confusion. "Okay."

"Good." She took a deep breath. "How much do you know about my military career?"

"Um... you were the commander, and you and Dad and Garrus did a lot of missions together? And then you were hurt during the war, so you retired."

It was accurate enough, she supposed, though all the details were missing. "And what do you know about your Dad's career?"

David could rattle off nearly all of Kaidan's service history, with special commentary on events Kaidan had been particularly proud off. The contrast made Shepard wince, especially when David talked proudly about his Dad being a Spectre. Shepard rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I was a Spectre, too, David. First," she added under her breath. She probably shouldn't be feeling competitive with her late husband, now should she.

"Oh, right. I forgot." He chewed on his lip.

She sighed. "You know what? Let's start from the beginning. I enlisted when I was 18. Do you know why?"

David frowned. "Because you wanted to protect people?"

"No. Because I was a poor kid who lived on the streets, and I didn't have a lot of good choices about how to live my life," she said bluntly. Her childhood... that was something she'd never brought up very much. Maybe that had been a mistake.

David blinked several times, startled. "Oh."

"And then I did well in training, so I decided I was going to do my best to be good at it." She opened the box. "I had to study hard to qualify for officer training, but I did it. Here's my second lieutenant insignia."

David leaned over and peered into the box. His eyes grew wide at the jumble of precious metals and colored ribbons within. "Mom—what's all that?"

Shepard sighed. "David, these are my medals."

She showed him the several she'd been awarded for being wounded in combat, and the others for meritorious service. She didn't go into all the gory details, but she talked him through the basics of her entire career. Akuze. N school. Her promotions. She gave him a somewhat edited account of the discovery of the Prothean beacon, the chase after Saren, and the fight against Sovereign. He had heard anecdotes from that period before, but had probably never grasped the whole context. He listened to her wide-eyed, occasionally stopping her to ask a question. She had, she realized with a flush of something like guilt, never talked to him so frankly about her career before.

But the hard part was next.

"What happened after that?" he asked.

Shepard sighed, fiddling with her old dog tags on their chain. She'd taken them out of Liara's display box long ago. "What happened next was... I was badly injured and presumed dead."

He frowned. "Presumed dead?"

"Yes." Leave it at that, she decided. It was so much easier than saying she had _been_ dead. She couldn't, she still couldn't, bring herself to say the words "I died" to her son. Not when his father was never coming back. "Everyone thought I was dead, except the people who were... helping me in secret. I was unconscious for two years."

His lips rounded into a silent O. Shepard forged on. "When I woke up again, they said they needed me for an important mission, and... I decided they were right. About that, anyway."

"Who were they, Mom? You said everyone thought you were dead."

She sighed again. "Cerberus. It was Cerberus who... worked on me and kept it a secret that I was alive."

David frowned. "They told us in school that Cerberus were terrorists, and they helped the Reapers."

"They were." She passed a hand over her hair. "They weren't helping the Reapers then, though. That happened later."

"But you didn't..." he said slowly. "Did you know they were bad?"

The echo of his father's questions and accusations made her flinch. "Yeah, I did. I didn't know everything— but I knew enough. I knew they'd hurt people and done bad things. But I felt like I had to stay with them because of the mission they needed me to do." David was continuing to look at her with that intent frown, so she added, "It's okay if you're confused. I was confused, too."

David's brows drew together further, and he looked down at the jumble of medals on her lap. "Was it scary?"

She wanted to say something light-hearted or reassuring, but she thought back to those first days on the new _Normandy_, the feeling that she was constantly being watched, and she couldn't muster anything besides the truth. "Yeah. Yeah, it was." She swallowed. "Garrus joined up with me a little after that, and I was glad I had someone I could rely on."

David's frown deepened. "Dad didn't join you?"

She coughed. "No, honey. He didn't know right away, and he was really mad when he found out about Cerberus. We made up later, though."

"Then how come Garrus joined you?"

She hadn't anticipated that question for some reason. "Hm. That's a long story, too, but it's his story, not mine. You can ask him sometime." She should give Garrus a warning that the question might be incoming, she realized. She wasn't sure how much he'd told even Lexa about that part of his life. "Anyway, the mission—"

"What was the mission?"

That murky period must not have made it into the school curriculum. "Whole human colonies were disappearing."

"Okay, that's bad," he said after a second.

She smiled at the understatement. "Yeah, it was. Anyway, we did that mission, and found out what was happening to the colonies. I..." She took another breath. "I went back to the Alliance. I had to answer a lot of questions, and I was grounded for a while because of some of the things I'd done. Admiral Anderson reinstated me when the Reapers invaded."

David had more questions as they talked through the war. He had a rudimentary idea of the basic events of the war from school; he knew about the Reaper attacks and the turian-krogan alliance, and how all the species had come together. Shepard avoided filling in all the details—many of those stories still felt too personal, too raw—but she told him about the major actions she'd taken part in.

"You worked with the krogan _and_ the quarians?"

"I did." Shepard looked at the last array of honors spread out on her lap: the Star of Terra she'd been awarded after the Battle of London, the Star of Sur'Kesh, the turian Nova Cluster, the quarian Fire of Rannoch, an asari whose name she couldn't remember, and a rock, from Tuchanka; if you looked closely, you could tell that it was ancient krogan-worked stone, not a natural rock. ("We don't have fancy medals," Wrex had told her, "but you should have this, because you gave us back our future.") "I was... I helped put the alliance together, David." No matter what all of the citations attached to those honors said, she had a hard time proclaiming that it had all happened because of her. Too many others had given their all—some of them, their lives—for the fight.

"Did you fight in the last battle? In London?"

_Fire on my mark_. The memory of the hellscape London had been was faded, but not enough. Her mouth was getting dry. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to ease her headache away. "Yeah. I... I led it. I was in the ground assault, and I got to the Citadel and made sure the Crucible could dock and fire." The headache was growing in spite of her best efforts. She opened her eyes, saw David's watchful gaze, and managed to smile. "I was pretty badly wounded already. A lot of what happened is a blur. I don't remember it very well."

David was silent as she put the medals back in the box. "How come you never told me this before? I mean, Dad talked about what he did..."

She shut the lid and looked at the plain surface. "There was a lot of stuff I didn't like thinking about. I lost a lot of people I cared about. I got hurt a lot. After the war, it took me a long time to recover, and then we had you, and I just wanted to be your mom for a while. I guess I thought you were old enough to handle it now. If you want to ask me questions later, you can. I'm sure there's a lot of information you could get from the extranet, too." She took a deep breath and turned to him, relieved to see that he looked thoughtful. "So when you talk about wanting to be a marine, I worry about a lot of things. I worry that you'll get hurt or killed. I worry about what you'll have to do, and see. I worry that other people will put a lot of pressure on you because of your dad and me, and that you'll have a hard time just being yourself. As far as I'm concerned, you don't have anything to prove to anybody, and it doesn't matter who your parents are."

"I..." David gulped but nodded, wide-eyed. "Okay. I get it."

Shepard went on, "You've been talking a lot about what Lexa's going to do, but you know that turians have to serve or lose their citizenship. I joined up because I didn't have a lot of choices. You do have choices—that's why I made sure you were going to a good school. I'd like you to think about your choices. But if joining the Alliance is what you really want to do, I'm not going to stand in the way. Okay?"

He nodded again. "Okay."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy on you, either, because I'm damn sure no one else is going to. There are a lot of things you could do to prepare." She took another look at him and her tone softened. "But you have plenty of time for that. And for now, you can get ready to go to dinner."

#

David was still quiet and thoughtful as they headed over to Garrus's apartment for dinner. Shepard would have liked a bit more kid-chatter, to be honest. She felt as though she was gearing up for a mission, her head up, her shoulders locking into place, her face putting on a neutral expression. Correct, professional, focused on her target.

Except... she wasn't sure how well a soldierly persona would serve her this time. This wasn't a battle to be won or lost, or if it was, it was a different kind of battle. Being combative or overly defensive probably wouldn't serve her here. Kaidan's family, she thought wistfully, had liked her right away.

Shepard wasn't sure if David noticed her tension or not, but she could tell that Garrus did as soon as he opened the door. His head tilted and the muscles around his eyes tightened in a familiar expression of concern, but Lexa came bounding toward them before he'd managed to say anything at all. "David!" she called, as if they hadn't seen each other in months instead of the hours since school had ended for the day. Shepard smiled in spite of herself.

"Hi to you, too, Lexa."

"Oh!" Lexa drew up short and then offered Shepard a hasty hug, mumbling some greeting, and then caught David's arm, saying, "Come _on_, I want to play."

"Go ahead," Shepard said when David looked at her for permission, and the two children ran off toward Lexa's room.

Their departure left a sudden quiet. Shepard caught a glimpse of Solana in the living room, before Garrus slipped an arm around her himself, blocking her view. "It's going to be fine," he said quietly.

She hugged him back but snorted. "You sure about that?"

"You look like you're preparing for a fistfight with husks. Remember," he added even more quietly, "whatever she says doesn't change how I feel."

She drew in a breath and nodded, and then Garrus drew her into the kitchen, which already smelled of the usual lasagna, as well as the more pungent odors of turian cooking. It settled her nerves, and she wondered just when that combination had started to feel so _homey_. She took the glass of wine he offered. "Do you need any help?" she asked, looking around.

Garrus gave her a look, the kind he might give Lexa when she was trying to get away with something. "No. I'm fine. Go on."

Trying not to slump or drag her feet, she went into the living room, where Solana sat with her own glass. Shepard hesitated before choosing her seat, facing Solana across a low table. She took a sip of her wine and tried to think how to open the conversation. What seemed like an eternity ticked by, while she tried not to look at the other woman too hard. She couldn't be sure, but she thought Solana wasn't looking closely at her, either. Eventually, the turian woman broke the silence. "They seem very attached to each other." Her head tilted toward Lexa's room, where they could hear muffled, excited voices through the wall.

Shepard smiled. "The kids? Yeah. They get along really well."

"I'm glad she has a friend." Solana shifted a little, the movement seeming sudden and jarring. "Garrus thought it was best to relocate, and Dad agreed, but... I worried how she'd adjust. The Citadel is very different from Cipritine."

"I haven't been," said Shepard.

"It isn't what it once was, of course. But then, what is? It takes more than a decade to rebuild a city thousands of years old."

"Earth is the same way," Shepard said, with the usual tug of dread she got when thinking about the war. "But Lexa—she's a great kid. She's just a delight to be around. She always seems cheerful and energetic. I think she's adapting really well." As far as she knew, the nightmare of a few weeks ago hadn't turned into a trend.

Solana nodded, and they sat for a few minutes in a stiff silence. Before things could get any more awkward, Shepard moistened her lips and said, "Look, I realize you have good reason not to like me."

Solana tensed, her jaw tightening with an audible _click_. "Don't act like you know me."

Shepard jerked back in her chair. The turian woman sighed and shook herself, lowering her head. "Sorry. I... sorry. I told myself I wasn't going to do that."

Shepard took another drink of wine to settle her nerves. "I just... I get it. That's all I was trying to say."

"Do you?" Solana looked at her directly now. Her eyes were greenish, more than blue, but just as sharp, boring into her from across the room. "What is it that you think you 'get,' exactly?"

Shepard shrugged, feeling stiff. She glanced toward the kitchen, but Garrus had his back toward them; if he overheard their conversation, he was doing a good job of pretending he didn't. "I realize that I've done things that hurt him. We've talked about it, but... I own my mistakes. I can't undo what I did then. I can only try to do better going forward."

Solana's mandibles flexed. "Is that what you think? It's true; he doesn't need someone who's going to run off the first time she spies a pretty human face."

"It wasn't like that." Shepard fought to curb the rising anger, because no matter who Solana was, she had no right to pry into that years-old tangle of feelings.

"Lexa doesn't need that, either."

Shepard matched Solana's rising tone. "You think I don't know that? My kid lost a parent, too."

Solana pulled back, blinking. "I'm sorry."

"My husband died. Three years ago now. Killed in the line of duty." She took another swallow to soothe her dry mouth. "The circumstances were different, but my son struggled with that, all right? It was a hard time for both of us. And I care about Lexa. I take her well-being seriously. She's a wonderful, bright, caring kid. I—" Shepard paused, trying to choose her next words carefully. "I wanted more than one child. I thought we'd have a boy and a girl, at least. Maybe more than two. It didn't work out that way." No way, no way was she going to talk about all _that_, not with this woman who didn't like her. "If the problem here is that you're worried I'm going to leave, well, I can tell you I have no intention of doing that. I care about both of them. I... I feel like I have a second shot at something important, and I don't want to miss it if I can. If we can make it work."

She watched Solana closely for a reaction. Solana watched her in turn, unblinking, and then glanced away. "I've worked with humans here and there, but I'm not sure I've ever really understood you." Shepard frowned, taking a breath, but Solana kept talking. "You're like us in so many ways—your military people certainly are—you handle discipline differently, but no one can fault your results, and you have a comparable sense of duty. But so many other things are different. And _you_—" She waved a hand in Shepard's direction. "I watch the news, I saw the vids, but I never understood why—"

Shepard breathed out a soft laugh. "I'm not much like that when the cameras aren't on me."

"Hm." Solana tapped the arm of her chair, her fingers working idly. She was the one to steal a glance into the kitchen, this time, before she continued. "I knew he wasn't happy at C-Sec, but I thought he'd settle in, eventually. I told him to give it some time, but it just got worse. And then you came along, and the messages home changed. He couldn't talk about the mission, but he could talk about you."

Shepard squirmed a little, thinking back to those early days. She'd been so young—they all had been. Well, except Wrex. Young and only barely understanding what they were facing. "That was a long time ago."

"It was," Solana said, "but I remember. Because he kept going on and on so much it was tiresome, but at the same time I could tell he was happier than he'd been in years." She shook her head. "And then he disappeared, and came back like someone I hardly knew, and somehow it always seemed to come back to you."

Shepard's fingers tightened on the arm of the chair. She had to remind herself to be careful with the delicate wine glass. "I don't know what you expect me to say about any of that."

"You said you 'get it,'" Solana said. There was tension in her voice again, but she didn't sound as angry as before. "I don't know if you do understand what it's like to lose track of your own brother for months at a time. To find that he'd turn his back on his own family to follow some human stranger—"

"That's not fair," Shepard said sharply. "You said yourself you knew he was unhappy. All I knew when I met him is that he was smart and frustrated and a good shot, and I needed all the help I could damn well get. That's what I knew later, too. I needed all the help I could get and I knew I could rely on Garrus." It still pinched at her, a little, how eagerly she'd accepted his help, without asking all the questions she ought, but she wasn't giving up that ground now. "After everything else, surely you have to admit what we were doing was important."

"I know." Solana closed her eyes and took a breath. "I'm sorry. It was... a hard time in my life, and it's difficult to forget what seemed at the time like colossal errors in judgment."

Shepard took the last swallow from her glass. "I can understand that."

"Hm." Solana shook herself and settled into a more relaxed posture. "You're right, after all. It was a long time ago. This is... very old ground to tread."

"I thought we were trying to clear the air. Get everything out into the open."

"Not how I usually handle things, but perhaps you're right."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Anything you'd like to get off your chest?"

Solana glanced away. "Melia and I were friends." Shepard could hear, now, the rough undertones of grief in her voice.

"I'm sorry. She sounds like a wonderful person."

"She was." Solana turned back. "You should consider coming for a visit sometime, and meet the rest of the family."

Shepard blinked, startled more than she could say.

There was a thump as Lexa's door opened, and both of the children came into the room. "I beat David!" Lexa proclaimed.

Shepard tore her eyes away from Solana to smile at the girl. "Good for you!"

"I'll get you next time," David said.

Lexa tossed her head. "Maybe." She edged her way over to Shepard's chair, leaning up against the side of it. "I'm glad you came over. We _missed_ you."

Shepard's smile grew. "Well, I thought you'd want some time with your aunt."

"We went _everywhere_," Lexa said, rocking on her feet. "But I didn't see you _all week_."

Shepard's mouth quirked up more at the drama. "Well, here I am now."

"And dinner's ready," Garrus announced. "Assuming anyone actually wants it, that is."

"Yes!" David shouted, running toward the kitchen.

The rest of the evening was pleasant enough that it was almost disorienting. Lexa was cheerful, and David had relaxed a lot; Garrus was his usual self, and Solana was polite. They had calm small talk about jobs and how the Citadel was different from Cipritine, interspersed with the children's commentary on their games and school. She and Solana might never be friends, Shepard thought as they passed food back and forth, but they could be civil and friendly enough, and that was good enough for now.


End file.
